


breathless and bulletproof

by Spikedluv



Category: Blood Ties (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Case Fic, Community: smallfandombang, M/M, Minor Coreen Fennel, Minor Dave Graham, Minor Kate Lam, Romance, episode rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:26:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6514363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike was a werewolf, Henry was a vampire, so Mike didn’t trust Henry on principle.  They were working together to stop a madman (madwoman?) from calling forth a demon, and that was it.  The flirting was just Henry trying to get under Mike’s skin.  And Mike did not need to get laid, no matter what Vicki and Dave thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stopping the Demon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for 'breathless and bulletproof'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6430555) by [stormbrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormbrite/pseuds/stormbrite). 



> Rewrite of eps 1.01 Blood Price part 1 and 1.02 Blood Price part 2; werewolf!Mike. There are some small references to the book (Blood Price by Tanya Huff) which I have included in the story because they were in my brain. Written for Round 5 of Small Fandoms Bang on LJ/DW. The title is taken from David Cook’s ‘Criminal.’
> 
> So many thanks to stormbrite for the gorgeous art she created for this story. She did such an amazing job, and she was patient with me while I was trying to come up with a title, for which I am extremely grateful. I’ve included the artwork in the story, but you should definitely check out her art post and leave her some love. ALL the love!
> 
> Posted: April 13, 2016

[ ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6514363)

_Day One_

Detective Michael Celluci sat at his desk staring at the open case file spread across the surface. This was the second death in the last few days, and they were no closer to finding the killer than they had been days before. They’d interviewed friends, family, and co-workers of the most recent victim and gotten bupkis.

Mike’s partner, Dave Graham, set a cup of coffee at his elbow, and Mike grunted a thanks. He only looked away from the file when the grease and sugar scent of freshly fried donut breached the sense of smell Mike kept dialed down due to a tendency for some people to overuse body sprays and others to underutilize the modern convenience of running water. Which was nothing compared to the smell of fresh vomit and stale urine that wasn’t confined to the holding cells.

Mike took a bite of donut and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He washed the bite down with a sip of coffee.

“Find anything?” Dave said between bites of his own donut.

Mike shook his head. “Maybe the girlfriend’s right,” he said. “Maybe it was a vampire.”

Dave chuckled. “I wanna be there when you propose that theory to Crowley.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, “no.”

Mike wished that, for once, the papers had gotten it right and the killer _was_ a vampire. At least then he’d know what he was up against. Two deaths now, throats savaged, bodies exsanguinated. And Victoria Nelson smack dab in the middle of it all because she’d witnessed the attack on the second victim.

The killer wasn’t human, Mike knew that much, but it wasn’t a vampire. There weren’t any vampires in Toronto. Lack of bodies aside (according to the tales Mike had heard, vampires weren’t known for their moderation), Mike would’ve been able to ‘sniff them out,’ as Vicki would say.

While Mike was lost in thought about vampires, Vicki sat in the chair beside his desk. Dave’s eyes went wide, probably anticipating a repeat of their heated argument of the night before, and he pushed his chair back, muttering something about a file he needed. Mike shoved the last two bites of donut into his mouth all at once, knowing that to set it back on the plate was to lose it. Without missing a beat, Vicki reached over and took the back-up donut off Dave’s plate. From across the bullpen, Mike saw Dave open his mouth to protest, and then think better of it.

“What can I do for you, Vicki?” Mike said when he’d chewed enough of the donut to be able to speak without spraying crumbs all over his desk.

“Attractive,” Vicki said before taking a bite of her own pilfered donut. She glanced over at the file spread out on Mike’s desk.

Mike closed the file and shuffled the papers back into some semblance of order so they were hidden inside the folder. Vicki gave Mike an innocent look. He snorted. “I’m not talking to you about the case, Vicki.”

“You don’t have to,” Vicki said with an innocence Mike didn’t buy for a second. “But you should because I’ll be investigating it myself, and it would be easier if we shared information instead of stepping all over each other.”

“Vicki, stay out of it. If you interfere in this investigation, Crowley’ll have you arrested so fast your eyes’ll spin,” Mike said, trailing off. “Sorry, bad choice of words there.”

“I’m a P.I. now Mike,” Vicki said. “Crowley can’t stop me from investigating any case I damn well please.”

Mike leaned closer and hissed, “You’re a civilian now, Vicki. You can’t just insert yourself into an official police investigation!”

“I’m not,” Vicki said. “I have an interest as a concerned citizen who witnessed a murder, but more to the point, I was hired by Coreen Fennel. I believe you’ve already met her.”

“The girlfriend,” Mike said, defeated. “Do you believe her vampire theory?”

“I think the better question is, do you?” Vicki responded.

“No,” Mike said. “Because there are no vampires in Toronto. I’d know if there were.”

“Then what is it?”

Mike sighed and fell back into his chair. “I have no idea, Vicki.”

“But it’s not human, right?” Vicki said, her voice low so she wouldn’t be heard by anyone except Mike, and only then because he had exceptionally good hearing.

“I don’t know,” Mike said, “but no, I don’t think so.”

“Well, don’t you have some sort of, I don’t know, resource book, or something, that you can look through? An online database, or a, a bestiary?”

“Seriously?” Mike said.

Vicki threw her hands up. “I don’t know!”

Mike scrubbed a hand through his hair. “No, Vicki, I don’t have a bestiary.” He paused.

“What?”

“But I might know someone who does.”

“Fantastic! When do we go?”

“We don’t,” Mike said. He held up a hand when Vicki started to protest. “I just think this is something I should do alone. If it goes well, I’ll introduce you later.”

Vicki didn’t look appeased, but she said, “Fine. Well, I’ll let you get back to it, then.” She rose. “It’ll be nice working with you again. Oh, and thank Dave for the donut for me.”

“Right,” Mike said. “Wait, what are you going to do?”

“I think I’m going to go back and check out the crime scene,” Vicki said over her shoulder.

“No, Vicki!” Mike said, but Vicki ignored him and kept walking towards the elevator. “Damn it!”

~*~*~*~

Mike parked in front of the University of Toronto’s Library and placed an ‘on duty’ sign on the dashboard. He’d called ahead, and so he headed directly for the Rare Book Room where Dr. Betty Sagara, Professor of Demonology, spent most of her time. The room was dim, lit only by a small desk lamp.

“Dr. Sagara,” Mike said, as he approached the desk.

The woman sitting behind the desk looked up, her stern expression quickly sliding into a smile of welcome when she recognized Mike. “Michael,” she said warmly.

Mike smiled at the familiar sound of her voice. It had been too long since he’d heard it.

“It’s been too long,” Dr. Sagara said, as if reading his mind. She rose and moved out from behind the desk, and held her arms out to Mike.

Mike moved into her arms and returned the hug she gave him. He let go when Dr. Sagara stepped back, her hands on his arms as she studied him. “Look at you,” she said. “All grown up, and a detective, as well.”

“I had some help getting there,” Mike said.

Dr. Sagara looked pleased at the acknowledgment, but then she got down to business. She indicated a chair in front of the desk, and instead of moving back to the chair behind it, took the seat next to Mike’s. “You called me on a police matter, you said. What can I do for you?”

Mike sat and pulled his trench coat out from under him and straightened it to buy some time for what he was about to say. He’d rehearsed it on the way over, but it still sounded crazy. “You’ve heard about the two recent deaths,” he said.

“Yes, a horrible thing.”

“Yes, well, as the papers have reported, all of the blood is missing from the victim’s bodies.”

“They’re also calling it a vampire,” Dr. Sagara said evenly.

Mike scoffed. “It’s not a vampire.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“There are no vampires in Toronto,” Mike said firmly.

“Well, certainly none that have left bodies lying around,” Dr. Sagara agreed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mike said.

Dr. Sagara shrugged. “Even if there hasn’t been a vampire in Toronto, it doesn’t mean there isn’t one here now. And a newly turned vampire can be especially . . . unrestrained in their feeding.”

“So you think it _is_ a vampire?” Mike said, unable to hide his surprise.

“Not necessarily,” Dr. Sagara said. “I just didn’t want you dismissing the notion out of hand.”

Mike shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Always the teacher,” he said.

Dr. Sagara smiled. “Now, tell me what is it that I can do for you, Michael.”

Mike took a deep breath. “I wondered if you had any ideas of what it might be, or if you had any . . . books I could look through . . .”

“Like a bestiary,” Dr. Sagara said.

Mike sighed. “Yes, like a bestiary.” (He was never telling Vicki about this.)

“I don’t,” Dr. Sagara said, but before Mike could feel disappointment, she went on, “But I might know someone who does. Why don’t you let me give him a call and I’ll get back to you.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Mike said. He reached out and took Dr. Sagara’s hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dr. Sagara said.

 

_Day Two_

“You do realize you don’t work here anymore, right?” Mike said when Vicki slid into the chair beside his desk.

“Funny. I found something.”

Mike pushed the file away from him and leaned back in his chair. “Spill.”

“I went back to the crime scene last night . . .”

Mike winced. “I wish you’d be more careful, Vic.”

“Can it, Mike, I can take care of myself. As you well know. Now, do you want to hear what I found, or not?”

“Yes,” Mike said, gritting his teeth to keep from saying something that would anger Vicki and further damage their current working relationship.

“Blood,” Vicki said.

“You found blood at a crime scene,” Mike said wryly. “That’s shocking.”

“I found it four inches deep into a crack in the wall,” Vicki said. “Rajani confirmed that it’s blood; she’s running it now for a match with the victim.”

“I . . . don’t know what to say,” Mike said.

“You could say ‘congratulations’,” Vicki said. “Or perhaps ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you?” Mike said.

“For figuring out how our perp got away,” Vicki explained.

“Through a crack in the wall,” Mike said skeptically.

“Hey, you’re the one who said the killer wasn’t human,” Vicki said.

Mike looked around. “Keep your voice down,” he hissed.

Vicki rolled her eyes. “I’ve shown you mine, now show me yours.”

“What?”

“What did you find out last night?”

“Oh,” Mike said. “I spoke with my contact. She didn’t have any sort of . . .”

“Bestiary?” Vicki said.

Mike ground his teeth. “Right. But she knows someone who might. She’s going to contact him and get back to me.”

“Excellent!” Vicki said. She tapped the top of Mike’s desk with her fingers. “Let me know when you hear from her, and I’ll keep you updated if I find out anything else.”

“Fine,” Mike said, because really, what else was there to say?

Vicki stood to leave. “Oh, I should mention that I saw someone else checking out the crime scene last night.”

“What?”

“I didn’t get a good look at him, but it might have been our killer.”

“Jesus Christ,” Mike muttered. He rubbed his chest, wondering if Vicki blindly (ha!) running into their killer could actually be enough to give him a heart attack.

~*~*~*~

Mike pushed open the door to Vicki’s office. He shoved the bag of Chinese into the room ahead of him. “I come bearing gifts,” he said.

“Oh, good,” Vicki said as she pulled the door open further and took the bag out of his hand. “And here I thought you were coming over to yell at me.”

“I considered it,” Mike said, “but I knew it wouldn’t do any good, and it would just end up giving me angina.”

“It’s good to know your limitations,” Vicki said. “What’s that?”

Mike held up the book he carried. (He wasn’t calling it a bestiary.) “My contact came through. I needed someplace private to go through it.”

“And you thought of me. How sweet.”

“I could take my Chinese and go,” Mike said.

“You could take your bestiary and go,” Vicki corrected. “I’m keeping the Chinese.”

“You never did play well with others, Vic,” Mike said. He set down the bestiary on a box and shrugged out of his trench coat. He hung it on a hook in the wall and looked around for a place where they could set out the food.

“In here,” Vicki said, and Mike followed her into what was obviously her office. There was a desk and a couch with a coffee table in front of it. Most importantly, the coffee table wasn’t covered with files or books or boxes. Vicki set out the take-out containers and chopsticks.

They talked about anything but the case while they ate. Vicki told Mike about her mother’s latest phone call, and he told her about his cousin’s wedding. After Vicki stowed the leftovers in her small refrigerator, Mike pulled over the book Dr. Sagara had procured for him, and opened it. There were pictures, drawings, really, which would be helpful if they were accurate. Mike didn’t know how much of the information in the book could be believed, but it was a place to start.

Vicki sat back beside Mike on the couch and they went through the book page by page, looking at the photos and reading the names of the creatures, to see if anything looked like the figure Vicki had seen the other night. They’d only gotten halfway through the book when Mike’s eyes started to blur. He knew that Vicki’s eyes had to be bothering her, as well.

Mike closed the book. “That’s enough for now. I need to get back to the division.”

“Alright,” Vicki said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Stay out of trouble,” Mike said.

“Don’t I always?”

Mike rubbed his chest.

 

_Day Three_

“Rajani confirmed that the blood was a match to the victim, Ian Reddick,” Vicki said as she plopped down into the chair beside Mike’s desk.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Mike said.

“Does she know she doesn’t work here anymore?” Dave said across the desk.

“I’m not sure,” Mike told him.

“Is Dave still upset about the donut?” Vicki asked Mike.

“Probably.”

Vicki raised the bakery bag she’d brought in and held it out towards Dave. “An apology.”

Dave took the bag cautiously and peered inside. “You’re forgiven,” he said. “I need more coffee. You?” he asked Mike.

Mike declined. They waited for Dave to move out of hearing range.

“So, what do you think about the ‘saliva’ and ‘bat wing’ that Rajani found?” Vicki said.

“How do you know about that already?” Mike said. “I just got the report!”

Vicki shrugged. “What can I say? She likes me.”

Mike rolled his eyes.

“I read about the third death,” Vicki said softly. She laid her hand on Mike’s arm. “Sorry.”

“Thanks,” Mike said. He’d spent the night going over the crime scene and breaking the news of her death to the victim’s husband. “I didn’t have time to look any further into that book,” he told Vicki. “What did you do?”

“I went to Club Nervosa,” Vicki said.

Mike closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face. The club where Ian Reddick worked. “Find out anything?” he asked, resigned.

“He had a run-in with some regulars, but I don’t think it was them.”

Mike didn’t mention that he and Dave had already questioned them. “Your reasoning?”

“Well, for one, they were human,” Vicki said.

“Touche,” Mike said.

 

_Day Four_

Mike was going through the book looking for a creature that might wear a flappy coat and turn into birds or bats and have something resembling bat wings and leave something like saliva on their victim. It sounded an awful lot like a vampire, and Mike wondered if he shouldn’t start looking along those lines. He remembered Dr. Sagara’s comment about a newly turned vampire being more voracious and less careful, and wondered if it couldn’t be possible, after all, that a vampire had moved to Toronto.

Mike got up and stretched. He used the excuse of checking his phone to move around. He took it off the charger and noted that there was a full charge. There was also a message; he must have put the phone on silent by mistake. Mike recognized Vicki’s number, and noted that the message came in hours ago. He listened to the message, and swore softly.

_Hey, Mike, it’s Vicki. Listen, I mapped the locations of the murders, and you’re not going to believe this, but I think they form three angles of a pentagram. And I think I know where the next murder is going to be._

Mike swore more viciously and marked down the address Vicki gave him. When he arrived Vicki wasn’t there; what he did find was another dead body and a pair of Vicki’s glasses lying on the sidewalk.

 

_Day Five_

“Where the hell have you been?” Mike said when Vicki walked into her office the next morning.

“Hello to you, too,” Vicki said as if Mike hadn’t spent most of the night going out of his mind with worry.

“I got your message,” Mike said. “I went to the address you gave me. You weren’t there, but I found a dead body. And these.” He brandished Vicki’s glasses.

“Oh, I’m glad you found those,” Vicki said as she pulled the glasses out of Mike’s fingers and held them up to the light to check the lenses. “I hate my back-up pair.”

“I . . . am going to kill you myself,” Mike said. “I’ve been calling you all night. I was worried.”

“I can take care of myself,” Vicki said.

“Four people are dead, Vicki,” Mike said, then added, “You could’ve picked up the phone and told me you were alright.”

“You’re right. And I promise, the next time something like this happens . . .”

“Next time?”

“I will call you the moment I regain consciousness.”

“You were unconscious?”

“Just for a little while,” Vicki said. “Speaking of which, I have a headache, so if you could keep it down I’d appreciate it. Stop gritting your teeth,” she added.

“I’m trying to not strangle you,” Mike said.

“Aww, and you were just so worried about me.”

“I’m regretting it now,” Mike said.

“Liar. So, do you want to hear what happened last night?”

Mike sighed. “Why yes, Vicki, I would _love_ to hear what happened last night.”

“I saw the thing that’s been killing these people, but I can’t give you more of a description than we already have. More importantly, I met someone.”

“You met someone,” Mike said dryly.

“Not like that,” Vicki said.

Mike raised his eyebrows.

“Maybe something like that,” Vicki amended. “But last night was all business. He rescued me. Sort of. After he knocked me out.”

Mike shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.”

“Just as well, probably. Anyway, he’s been following the murders . . .”

“Why?” Mike said suspiciously.

“Another concerned citizen,” Vicki said breezily. “Anyway, he drew the same pentagram I did and ended up at the same address. I think he can help us. He thinks it’s a . . .”

“Demon,” Mike said.

“You knew?”

“No. Not for sure.” Mike pointed to the bestiary. “I’ve been looking through the book while I was waiting for you to call me or show up for work. The descriptions varied, but there was enough similarity to make me wonder. So how do we stop a demon?”

“The bad news is, someone is calling the demon. At least, according to Henry. The good news is, if we can stop him, or her, equal opportunity demon-calling here, we stop the demon.”

“And how do we do that?” Mike said. “The person calling the demon wouldn’t be at the crime scenes, so they wouldn’t leave a trace.”

“I don’t know,” Vicki admitted. “Henry suggested we team up, but I wanted to think about it.”

“Why?” Mike said.

“Why what? Why did he suggest we team up, or why did I want to think about it?”

“Either. Both!”

“He’s a night owl, and I can’t see so well in the dark, but I can handle things during the day. And you know me, Mike, I’m not a great team player.”

Mike snorted. “You’re great at it when you’re calling the shots.”

Vicki shrugged in acknowledgment. “So what do you think, you want to go with me tonight and see what Henry has to say?”

“Why can’t we go now?” Mike said.

“He’s not available now,” Vicki said. “Tonight. I’ll call you.”

Mike knew a dismissal when he heard one. “Fine. Try to stay out of trouble until then, will you?”

“You know me, Mike.”

Mike sighed. He’d known it was a longshot when he asked.

“Hey, Mike.”

Mike looked back over his shoulder.

“Thanks for worrying about me.”

Mike shook his head, and smiled even though he didn’t want to. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

Vicki crossed her heart. “Promise.”

“Liar,” Mike said.

~*~*~*~

Mike revisited all four crime scenes. He started with the spot where the first victim had been found, then the alley, the parking garage, and the park where they’d found the most recent victim.

Mike had stopped using his heightened senses when he’d been partnered with someone new. Someone not Vicki. Mike had trusted Vicki with his secret, and they’d been able to use what he discovered (seen or smelled or heard, and on one very memorably disgusting occasion, tasted) to obtain evidence they could actually use in court. But for the last year, since Vicki had been put on desk duty, and then took early retirement, Mike had gone back to keeping his senses dialed down most of the time.

And not just so he didn’t have to deal with the smell of unwashed bodies and rotting garbage, or the sound of his neighbors having make-up sex. Mike still solved cases, but he did it the way most other cops had to, and without the iron tang of blood thick in his nostrils and at the back of his tongue.

Mike sighed now and lowered his walls. It had been so much easier to deal with all the smells present at a crime scene when Vicki had been there, but he was a big boy and he could do this. Mike noted the sour scent of days old urine and the sweet scent of marijuana, faint though, as if someone had worn it on their clothes rather than been smoking it here, and then pushed them to the back of his mind.

He breathed in again, more deeply. Even though the scene was only a week old, the scents he was searching for had faded – the chemicals used by crime scene unit, the iron of spilled blood, the rot of death that began to set in almost immediately . . . and something that reminded Mike of a spent match. It was possible that Mike had been wrong about the marijuana, and that the cigarette had been lit here, but he catalogued the scent anyway.

Mike remembered Vicki’s comment about the crack in the wall at the second crime scene, so he studied the area with heightened sight, paying special attention to the cracks in the sidewalk for blood residue and (Mike couldn’t believe he was actually thinking this) a possible means of escape.

There was no trace of blood, but Mike saw something else. It was spray-painted onto the wall, made to blend in with the other graffiti covering the faded brick, but it stood out to Mike because of something Vicki had said about the locations of the deaths forming the points of a pentagram. The image he found was a pentagram enclosed in a circle.

Mike didn’t remember seeing it in the file, which meant that the CSU team hadn’t noticed it. Mike took several photos of the symbol, then put on a pair of gloves and scraped some of the paint into a baggie for testing.

Mike found the symbol at the second and third crime scenes and took more photos and samples for comparison. In the alley, Mike found the crack Vicki had mentioned. He studied the blocked off alley, noting the height of the walls. He could get over them quite easily, and a demon that turned into birds or bats wouldn’t be deterred by them, either. Which made the blood in the crack even stranger. The blood had already been tested, but Mike took another sample anyway. He labeled the baggie and added it to the others in his pocket.

Mike ran into Dave at the fourth crime scene. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Dave said. “How’s Vicki?”

“Fine,” Mike said shortly. He sighed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t take out my irritation with Vicki on you.”

Dave shook his head. “The way you two butt heads, I don’t know how you managed to stay partners so long.”

“Yeah, well, we had ways to work off our frustration,” Mike said without thinking. “Wow,” he said when he saw Dave’s eyes widen. “I did not mean to say that out loud.”

Dave slapped a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “I don’t mind the over share, but I hope you weren’t angling for a piece of this.” Mike’s own eyes widened when Dave made a sweeping gesture with his hand to indicate just what ‘this’ was. “Because I already have enough trouble keeping my wife and my girlfriend satisfied.”

“I was not . . . angling,” Mike said.

“No shame in it if you were,” Dave said. “Just wanted to set the record straight. So to speak.”

“I appreciate it,” Mike said wryly.

“Maybe you and Vicki could resume . . . “ Dave waved his hands about.

“I don’t think Vicki and I are there yet. Or anymore,” Mike said. “So, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see the crime scene in the daylight,” Dave said.

“Yeah. I just visited the other crime scenes trying to find something we missed.”

“Any luck?”

“Not much,” Mike said. He told Dave about the spray-painted symbol he’d found at the first crime scene, and showed him the photos on his phone. “I took some samples. Maybe knowing where the killer got his materials to make them will help us.”

“Let’s get ‘em to the lab,” Dave said.

Mike took some photos of the symbol the demon had left behind at the most recent crime scene so he had the complete set on his phone for review, and took another sample from where it had been burned or etched into the metal of the statue.

They drove separately back to the precinct and Mike detoured to the lab to drop off his samples. “Blood from the crack in the wall at the alley. For the official report.”

Dr. Rajani Mohadevan didn’t blink an eye or look the least bit chagrined at Mike’s knowledge that she’d done some extracurricular work for Vicki. She merely said, “Vicki hadn’t lost her touch for seeing what others don’t, has she?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mike said, but Rajani was doing something with a test tube and didn’t respond.

When Mike got to his desk, Dave was going over the photos Mike had sent him, and which he’d printed out, with a magnifying glass.

“What did you find?” Mike said as he took off his trench coat and tossed it over the back of the chair next to his desk.

“They’re the same,” Dave said.

“Well, yeah.”

“No, I mean _exactly_ the same. No deviation, not even in the one that was spray-painted. All the lines are the same width, there aren’t any drips . . .”

“Like they used a brand or a template of some sort,” Mike said. He sighed, swiped a hand over his face as he leaned back in his chair. Mike was used to needing to come up with explanations for how he knew something he shouldn’t, but this was the first time he’d had to run two separate lines of investigation at the same time on the same case. Things had been so much easier when he’d been able to share his secret with his partner.

“Hopefully the lab will be able to tell us something,” Mike said, even though he knew that whatever the lab found would probably not help them find the demon behind the killings. Luckily, his phone rang just then. “Celluci,” he barked.

“Wanna go with me tonight to see a man about a demon?” Vicki said.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Mike said.

“Taking you with me?” Vicki said. “No.”

“Funny. How do you know you can trust this guy?” As far as Mike was concerned, a guy who just happened to be at the crime scene and knew about demons was still a suspect.

“It’s just a feeling I have,” Vicki said. “It hasn’t let me down yet,” she added, her voice going low and reminding Mike of the first days of their partnership. “But just in case,” Vicki went on in her normal voice, “I’m taking you along for back-up. Isn’t that what you’ve been urging me to do?”

Mike sighed. He hated when Vicki outmaneuvered him. “Fine. When and where?”

When Mike hung up, Dave was watching him. Mike ignored the look. “Why don’t you look at the victims again?” Mike suggested, knowing it was most likely busywork, but, with a demon involved, not feeling terribly bad about it. “We didn’t find a connection between the victims, but what about someone they know . . . ?”

Dave snapped his fingers quickly. “Someone could be trying to hide a murder in a bunch of random killings so we don’t look too closely at them!”

“Right!” Mike said. “And these symbols could just be . . .“

“A smoke screen,” Dave said, nodding.

Mike pointed at him. “Yes.”

“What are you going to be doing?” Dave said when Mike stood and started pulling on his coat.

“I’m going to speak with Vicki again; see if she remembers anything else from the other night,” Mike lied.

“Good luck with that,” Dave said dryly. “While you’re there, see if you can find a way to relieve your frustration, yeah?”

Mike snorted. Like that was gonna happen.

~*~*~*~

Mike met Vicki at the bus stop located at the corner of Dufferin Street and Dufferin Park Ave. He shook his head at her bullheaded need to prove her independence by making things more difficult than they needed to be.

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t just let me pick you up,” Mike said at the risk of starting yet another argument with her.

“I’m not an invalid, Mike,” Vicki said.

“I didn’t say you were, but I could’ve saved you a taxi ride.”

“I love taxis,” Vicki said.

“You hate taxis,” Mike said, but he let it drop and matched his pace to Vicki’s as they took the sidewalk into Dufferin Grove Park. “Where are we supposed to meet this guy?”

“The picnic area,” Vicki said.

“Tell me again why we’re meeting at night?” Mike said.

“It’s when Henry was available,” Vicki said.

They walked a little bit further along the sidewalk in silence. The past few days Mike’s concern and Vicki’s resentment had resulted in harsh words, but this moment felt comfortable. It reminded Mike of the years they’d spent partnered, after they’d hit their stride. Their relationship (in and out of the precinct) had been . . . tumultuous. But there had also been moments just like this one, when they were in sync.

Of course the moment couldn’t last. A figure stepped suddenly out from a grove of trees and into their path. A man, Mike’s eyes told him, but his senses were clamoring at him in warning. The man’s eyes turned black as he snarled at Mike through fangs.

“Werewolf,” the man said.

“That’s Detective Werewolf to you, vampire,” Mike growled, the reason for his senses going haywire now obvious to him. He had never met a vampire before, had only heard stories, seen drawings, but he instinctively knew that was what he was facing now. Mike reached out to protectively shove Vicki behind him even as his own form began to change.

“Wait, Mike,” Vicki said.

Mike swiped at the vampire with sharpened claws. When the vampire ducked out of the way, Mike leapt. Instead of caching the vampire off balance, the vampire caught Mike and tossed him into a tree. That was going to leave a mark.

Vicki winced at the impact, but she wasn’t running away. Of course not, Mike had time to think before the vampire was on him. Vicki Nelson didn’t run away from anything. She didn’t look frightened, either. She looked annoyed, which was par for the course these days.

“Why did I think this was a good idea again?” Vicki said, mostly to herself.

“I have no idea,” the vampire said.

It was slowly penetrating Mike’s battle haze that Vicki seemed to know the vampire, but all of Mike’s instincts were telling him to defend himself, and everything he’d learned about vampires told him that they were bad news. The vampire didn’t seem any more inclined to end the fight than Mike did. The fight went out of both of them when Vicki emptied her bottle of water on them.

“What the hell . . . ?” Mike sputtered.

“Great,” said the vampire calmly as he wiped water off his face. “Wet dog smell. That never comes out.”

Mike rose to his feet, pulling the tattered remains of his trench coat (and his dignity) around him. He was glad that he hadn’t been overtaken by the full-shift. Getting stuck in his clothes, and then being naked when he changed back, would’ve been embarrassing.

“If you two are done fighting . . . ,” Vicki said.

Mike looked the vampire over. He noticed, but merely raised an eyebrow.

Mike shrugged. “From everything I’ve heard about vampires, I thought you’d be taller.”

The vampire stepped into Mike’s space and stared into his eyes. “You couldn’t handle more of me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mike said, pulling himself up to his full height.

Vicki’s shrill whistle pierced the night, and Mike’s eardrums. Both he and the vampire winced. It annoyed Mike further that they had anything in common, even a heightened sense of hearing.

“Would you two like to keep measuring your metaphorical dicks, or stop this demon from killing anyone else?”

“Metaphorical?” Mike said, at the same time the vampire said, “I think you meant ‘metaphorically measuring’.”

Vicki’s thin smile said that she’d said exactly what she’d meant.

“Unless . . .” The vampire, who was apparently Henry, the guy they were here to meet, said with a smirk in Mike’s direction.

Vicki slapped Henry’s arm with the back of her hand. “Knock it off, Henry.”

Henry turned his smirk onto Vicki, which just made it look like he was flirting. Mike rolled his eyes. So did Vicki, but Mike didn’t miss the pleased flush on her cheeks. Neither did Henry.

“This is the guy you thought could help us?” Mike said, a stab of jealousy making his words come out more sharply than he’d intended.

Before Vicki could reply, Mike went on, “And you didn’t think to mention that he’s a vampire?”

“I wanted the two of you to meet without any pre-conceived notions getting in the way,” Vicki explained.

“How’s that working out for you?” Mike said.

“I hate to agree with the detective,” Henry said, “but in this case, a little warning might’ve been a good idea.”

Vicki sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to . . .” She gestured at the ground, indicating the melee that had just occurred there.

“What did you think was going to happen? That we were going to join hands and sing songs around the campfire?”

“I’ve already apologized for my short-sightedness . . . No pun intended,” Vicki added as they both stared at her in stunned silence. “Can we just move on now?”

“I will if you will,” Henry said magnanimously.

It only made Mike hate him more. “Fine,” Mike said. “But only because there are four dead bodies and a demon in the mix. I still don’t like you, and I don’t trust you,” Mike told Henry.

“You can’t hold a grudge when you’re the one who jumped me,” Henry said reasonably.

“You just appeared out of the trees,” Mike said. “Eyes all black, and snarling. I’d heard that vampires were vicious killers, but no one ever told me about the melodrama.”

“I apologize for frightening you,” Henry said.

“I’m just going to go on and find a picnic table,” Vicki said.

“Vicki!” Mike called after her. “And you didn’t frighten me,” he said to Henry.

“If you say so, Detective,” Henry said, and started after Vicki.

Mike began to follow, but his coat hung oddly because of the gaping tears. He took it off, ignoring the stab of pain from a cracked rib that hadn’t quite healed yet, and studied the damage under a street lamp. There was no hope for it, the coat was ruined. Mike made sure the pockets were empty, then stuffed the coat into the next trash can he came to. When he reached the picnic area where Vicki and Henry were waiting, Mike said, “You ruined my coat.”

Henry turned his head from where he’d been paying close attention to something Vicki was telling him. His gaze started at Mike’s head and moved slowly down his body to his feet. “It wasn’t very flattering anyway,” Henry said.

Mike ignored the bloom of heat in his belly, and said, “Is that supposed to be an apology?”

Henry grinned. “No. Actually, I think you should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” Mike sputtered.

“I have a taser,” Vicki said. “And at this moment I will happily use it on both of you.”

 

_Day Six_

Mike sat at his desk, staring at the lab reports in front of him. There had been a trace of sulfur on the blood Mike had scraped out of the crack in the alley wall. That explained the spent match scent he’d found at each of the scenes. The same scent Henry had caught. Which reminded Mike of last night’s meeting with Henry, something he’d been trying to _not_ think about. Henry had told them what the knew of the demons (plurals), and explained how he’d gained that knowledge. As much as he didn’t want to, Mike couldn’t help but feel some empathy towards the situation Henry had found himself in. Mike’s kind weren’t sought as demon sacrifices because some idiot wanted eternal life and didn’t care how he got it, but there was always someone interested in putting a trophy on their walls, and so Mike had learned to keep a low profile.

Mike was supposed to be helping Dave check out the victims’ friends and family, looking for someone who had a motive and a possible connection to the other victims. It was make-do work, but there was nothing else for Mike _to_ do until Vicki was done with her task – checking out the most recent thefts down in Robbery. Henry had told them that the demon was a minor demon (though Mike thought four deaths indicated otherwise) that could only offer material goods. He couldn’t create them, but had to steal them from somewhere close to where he was going to deliver them. Hopefully they’d be able to find a pattern that would lead them to the person who thought calling a demon, minor or otherwise, was a good idea.

Mike couldn’t forget the look on Henry’s face when he admitted that the demon had recognized him that night in the park when he’s met Vicki. The words the demon had spoken sent a shiver of dread down Mike’s back: *My Master knows you! He’s coming for you!* Henry had put a brave face on it, but Mike could tell that he did not have fond memories of his first encounter with Astaroth, and would prefer to not meet up with him a second time.

Mike wondered whether it would be so bad if his internet history to show a search for ‘Astaroth’ in particular or ‘demons’ in general. Probably, since Dave was already giving him weird looks. “What?” he finally said.

“I take it things didn’t go well with Vicki last night.”

Mike snorted. Oddly enough, it wasn’t Vicki who occupied his mind, but Henry. Who claimed to be nearly 500 years old. Who wrote and illustrated graphic novels. Who claimed to be the son of a king. And who’d lived in Toronto since before Mike had been born. All this time Mike had been unaware. Mike wasn’t an expert on supernatural creatures other than himself, but he’d been certain that he’d just _know_ if there was a vampire living in Toronto all this time.

To make matters worse, Henry wasn’t at all what he’d expected a vampire to be like. Mike had been told that vampires were unrestrained killers, but Henry had been very much in control. Even when he and Mike had fought, Henry hadn’t lost control. And Henry had saved Vicki the night before, when Vicki had gone off demon hunting without back-up.

Mike was a little shaken by his world view being upended, and by the fact that demons were real and one was trying to get loose to wreak havoc upon the world, and not by Henry himself. He was pretty sure. Mike definitely wasn’t thinking about the fact that Henry had been introduced to Dr. Mara, the leader of the Hellfire Club, by his lover of the time. His male lover.

Mike was jolted out of his thoughts by Vicki dropping into the chair by his desk. Dave’s eyes went wide and it looked like he was considering getting a reheat for his coffee.

“Was Henry flirting with you last night?” Vicki said.

Dave’s eyebrows went up and all thoughts of fleeing were lost. Mike’s own eyes went round. “What? No!”

“Who’s Henry? I thought you were with Vicki last night.”

“I was with Vicki last night!” Mike said. “She brought a friend,” he added dryly.

“Mmm, threesome,” Dave said wistfully. “I’ve always wanted to try one of those.”

“Aren’t you already in a threesome?” Vicki said.

“Not the fun kind,” Dave said thoughtfully, then he turned to Vicki. “Tell me more about this Henry.”

“Why don’t you go get a donut, or something,” Mike suggested.

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Dave said. “Can I bring either of you anything?”

“No,” Mike said impatiently.

“No, thank you,” Vicki said, giving Mike a look.

Dave paused by Vicki’s chair. “If you’re trying to set Mike up, I’m all for it. Man needs to get laid.”

“I do not . . . ,” Mike sputtered.

Vicki bit back a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You be quiet,” Mike said to Vicki. “You, go,” he directed to Dave.

Mike waited for Dave to leave before turning back to Vicki. “Did you find anything?”

“I found a couple interesting things,” Vicki said.

~*~*~*~

Despite being ‘daylight challenged,’ Henry beat Mike to Vicki’s office that evening. Vicki and Henry were both seated on the couch in Vicki’s office when Mike walked through the reception area. Vicki had made a list of the thefts she’d found that appeared ‘hinky,’ and they were going over that list now.

“Hey, Mike,” Vicki greeted when she saw him. “Henry’s picked out the thefts that a demon could’ve pulled off. Did you bring the map?”

“I brought some coffee, too,” Mike said as he plucked the folded city map from between the two cups in the holder and placed it into Vicki’s outstretched hand.

Vicki unfolded the map and spread it out over her desk. Mike glanced at Henry, who was staring at Mike’s leather jacket.

“I liked the other one,” Mike said grumpily to hide his body’s reaction to having Henry gaze at him so intently. “I would’ve brought you a coffee or something, but I didn’t know what you drank, if anything.”

When Mike looked up from removing the cups from the holder and setting them on the coffee table, Henry was regarding him with an amused expression. “Not that,” Mike said, and the corners of Henry’s lips curled up.

“It’s so cute that you two are bonding,” Vicki said. She ignored Mike’s glare and told Henry to read off the addresses of the thefts most probably perpetrated by the demon. As he did, Vicki marked them on the map.

“Hmm,” Vicki said when she was done.

“What did you find?” Henry said, moving over to the desk so he could look at the map himself.

Mike picked up the paper he’d left behind and glanced at the starred items – cash, a motorcycle, a pinball machine, a jukebox, a $900 leather jacket, and a Porsche.

“They’re all near the University Annex,” Vicki said.

Mike lowered the list and looked at the map. “If it’s a student, that would fit with the items stolen,” he said.

“I have a contact at the University who might be able to get us a list of names,” Henry said.

“That’ll help, but we can’t wait for that. We don’t know when the demon will be called again.”

“He’s escalating,” Mike said. He waved the paper when Vicki and Henry looked at him. “Asking for bigger ticket items each time he, or she, calls the demon. He’s getting impatient to get whatever it is he really wants. The reason he started calling this demon in the first place.”

“It’s already been two days since the last murder, which fits the pattern,” Vicki said. “He’ll call up the demon again tonight.”

“Since we still don’t know who’s calling it, we need to stop the demon before it kills again,” Mike said.

“Which means we need to know where it’ll strike next,” Henry said.

“My map,” Vicki said.

Vicki unfolded the city map upon which she’d sketched the pentagram. She added the fourth victim, then used a ruler to redraw the lines so that the location of the fifth point would be more exact. When she was done she stepped back, and Mike and Henry looked down on the spot where the next murder would take place if they didn’t stop it.

“How exact can we pinpoint it?” Mike said. “Even if it’s a couple of blocks, we can’t cover that much area.”

“You can’t,” Henry said, sounding resigned. “But maybe I can.”

Mike and Vicki watched silently while Henry performed a dark magic ritual that he warned them was highly dangerous. Mike was impressed (slightly) that Henry was willing to do something he found repugnant in order to save the life of someone he didn’t know, and who, in the scheme of things, given the years he’d lived already, and the years to come, meant very little to him.

Henry used a mirror Vicki had in her office, and when an image appeared, he said, “I know that place; Bikeman’s Park.”

“It just looks like a park,” Vicki said. “How do you know which park it is?”

Mike had recognized it as well, from nights he spent running on four legs under the full moon. He and Henry shared a look. Henry probably spent even more time haunting the parks, and for reasons Mike didn’t want to think about right now.

Now that Henry had pinpointed the location, they were eager to be off. Mike’s first instinct was to ask Vicki to remain behind – she’d already been hurt going after this thing, and her night vision was for shit – but he was wise enough to know that it would only start an argument between them and she wouldn’t listen anyway, so he saved his breath.

As they patrolled the skate park, Mike allowed his senses full reign. He felt safe to do so in the company of the one person he’d trusted with his secret, and a being that was even more a part of the supernatural than Mike was. Mike scented the air for the smell of sulfur, and listened for anything out of the ordinary. The park was silent, and Mike wondered where the demon would get its victim from if the park turned out to be empty. Then he thought about how useless his gun, even his fangs and claws, would be against a being that could disappear into thin air.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Vicki said. “What are you thinking about?”

“How do you stop something that bullets don’t affect, that can turn into bats or disappear through a crack?” Mike said, voicing his thoughts.

Before Vicki or Henry could answer, they heard a scream. The three of them took off in the direction of the screams, Mike and Henry quickly outpacing Vicki due to their preternatural speed. They reached the demon quickly, but even a cursory glance told him they were too late. Mike ignored the blood staining the concrete, sparing a, “Get the hell out of here!” for the horrified friend of the dead boy, and joined Henry’s attack on the demon.

For a moment the demon faltered, and Mike thought they might stand a chance at stopping it, killing it, trapping it . . . something! The demon recovered quickly and threw both of them. Mike landed hard, knocking the breath out of him, but he was back on his feet again, charging the demon with Henry. In his periphery, Mike noticed Vicki appear. She was only seconds behind them, but it felt much longer to Mike.

Vicki stopped only long enough to yell a warning at the stunned kid and give him a shove to get him moving. Vicki ran closer to the fight, but she didn’t rush right into the fray like Mike thought she would. She paused to wait for an opportunity, which came when Mike was once again tossed away like a rag doll. This time when he landed, Mike heard something crack. He thought it might be the same rib he’d cracked last night. Mike tried to not breathe too deeply while the rib healed.

Mike’s mind was taken off the momentary sharp pain of his broken rib when Vicki yelled for Henry to break off. He looked over in time to see Vicki tase the demon’s physical form. Briefly Mike thought that she’d managed to stop the demon, but with a mocking laugh, as if it had been toying with them, the demon turned on Vicki.

With a speed that impressed even Mike, Henry was between Vicki and the demon. He took the claw the demon had intended for Vicki. Both Henry and the demon looked surprised. The demon’s lips curled up into a grotesque parody of a smile, and it spoke. “My master knows you . . .”

Mike shuddered at the words and got to his knees. By the time he was on his feet the demon was gone, the sound of wings still in the air, and Vicki was cradling Henry’s limp body in her arms, calling out his name. Henry looked dead, and not his usual undead kind of dead. When Vicki pushed Henry’s coat aside, Mike could see why. The demon had made a mess of his chest.

“He’s not healing; he needs blood,” Vicki said, fumbling at the sleeve covering her wrist.

Mike’s first instinct was to keep Vicki from giving her blood to a vampire, but she was right. Henry had been hurt badly and he needed blood to heal. Mike knelt beside Vicki and Henry. He took Vicki’s hand in his and forced her to look at him. “Be careful,” Mike said, and then he used a claw to slice through the thin skin at Vicki’s wrist.

Impatiently, Vicki tugged her hand out of Mike’s grip and placed her wrist to Henry’s lips. “Come on, Henry, drink,” Vicki muttered, and a few seconds later, Henry began to suckle at her wrist.

Mike refused to admit that the breath he released was a sigh of relief, and he kept a close watch on Henry to make sure he didn’t take too much. Vicki made a low sound that drew Mike’s gaze, and he almost wished he hadn’t looked. Her expression was dazed, but Mike knew from the scent of arousal in the air that it wasn’t because Henry was taking too much blood. Mike ground his teeth together and focused on Henry.

What felt like hours later, but was only moments, Henry pushed Vicki’s hand away. “Henry,” Vicki said. “Are you alright?”

“Need more . . . ,” Henry said.

Vicki tried to put her wrist to Henry’s lips again, but once more he pushed her away. “Can’t take . . . too much . . . one person . . .”

Vicki looked at Mike.

“What?” Mike said before understanding dawned. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me. I don’t even like him,” Mike complained even as he slipped one arm out of his leather jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeve.

“Next time I’m just buying him coffee,” Mike grumbled. He moved around Vicki so he was in a better position to place his wrist to Henry’s mouth, then sliced the skin.

Henry’s lips latched onto Mike’s wrist. At first it tickled, and then Mike realized why Vicki had enjoyed the bite so much. Mike closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see Vicki’s face (or Henry’s), and concentrated on keeping his body from reacting too badly. Finally Henry stopped suckling, and Mike’s eyes popped open. Vicki gave him a look of understanding that Mike wasn’t sure he wanted, but quickly turned her attention to Henry.

“Can he move?” Mike said.

“Yes,” Henry said. “And he can speak for himself.”

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Mike said. “So to speak. If you can move, you two need to get out of here.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I need to call this in.”

Mike and Vicki helped Henry to his feet. Henry tried to catch Mike’s eyes, but Mike lowered his head and put more concentration than was necessary into fixing his sleeve. When Mike had his jacket back on, Vicki had one of Henry’s arms over her shoulders and one of hers around his waist.

“Thank you, Detective,” Henry said, the words seeming to come more easily to his tongue than a, ‘You’re welcome’ did to Mike’s. Finally Mike just said, “Get home before the sun comes up and undoes all our hard work.”

“I’ll call you,” Vicki promised before they moved off.

Mike watched until he couldn’t see them, almost afraid the demon might return to finish what it had started. When they’d disappeared into the shadows, Mike pulled out his phone and turned back to study the crime scene.

“Dude, did you see that?” the kid, who hadn’t run far, said.

Mike sighed. “Yeah,” he said.

 

_Day Seven_

Vicki called Mike to tell him that Henry had lost all sign of life when the sun came up, but that his wounds appeared to be healing. She was going to stay with him for the rest of the day because of a visit from the doorman with a stake. Mike didn’t want to be petty, but he was glad that he wasn’t the only one having a bad day.

Not only did they have another dead body, Dave was pouting because Mike had followed up on a ‘hunch’ without him, and Crowley was on his ass to solve the case before anyone else died, and she didn’t even know that this fifth death had completed the pentagram and there was only one more sacrifice necessary to allow the demon Astaroth into the world. Mike didn’t want to know what would happen if that occurred.

Aside from all that, Mike had seen the reports on a related death – a night nurse who’d been staked by a gang of neighbors who’d taken the headlines to heart. Mike hated to admit that Henry had been right in his concern about villagers with stakes and torches. The people of Toronto were afraid, and beginning to act on that fear, and Mike was no closer to stopping the demon than he had been before.

Mike knew that the killer wasn’t human, but he was forced to conduct his investigation – the official one – as if it was. They informed the parents of the dead boy of their son’s death and got very little information out of them, a list of friends, and the usual sentiment that Chad didn’t have any enemies. They questioned the friends (and a boyfriend the parents hadn’t known about), but uncovered no new leads.

Mike kept his eyes open for any links to the University, just in case the person calling the demon did have any ties to the boy, but came up empty. Back at the station, they wrote up their reports and read the few lab results that were available. Mike was ready to resort to Googling ‘Astaroth’ or ‘demon summoning’, his internet history be damned, when Vicki called to tell him that Henry had set up a meeting with his contact at the University. It was too soon to think that they were going to get any answers tonight, but at least Mike didn’t feel like he was merely spinning his wheels.

Henry had set up the meet near the University for the convenience of his contact. Mike got there late because he’d had to convince Dave that he wasn’t going to go out to follow up on a hunch without his partner. As he drew near the spot they were to meet, Mike caught familiar scents mingled with that of Vicki and Henry; old books and herbs.

“Dr. Sagara?” Mike said when he was close enough to make her out with his enhanced sight.

“I recognize that voice,” Dr. Sagara said as she peered into the night. “Michael,” she said with a smile when Mike was no longer shrouded in shadow to her human eyes.

“Mike?” Vicki said.

Mike ignored Vicki and Henry. He approached Dr. Sagara. Mike took her hand and bent to place a kiss on her cheek.

“Two times in less than a week,” Dr. Sagara said. “That must be a record for us.”

Mike felt a momentary stab of guilt – he’d seen her more often when he’d been younger.

“You two know each other?” Vicki said.

Henry remained suspiciously silent.

“Yes,” Mike said. To Dr. Sagara, he said, “You never told me that there was a vampire living in Toronto.”

“You never asked,” Dr. Sagara said acerbically. “Besides, I didn’t tell him about you, either.”

“Fair point,” Mike said. “Did Henry tell you what we need?”

“I did,” Henry said dryly. “Which you would have known if you’d arrived on time.”

“I had to assure Dave that I wasn’t having anymore hunches without him,” Mike said, not sure why he was explaining himself to Henry.

“Poor Dave,” Vicki said. “You should take him a donut when you go back.”

Dr. Sagara thought she could give them a few names, but she needed to go back to her office to go over her class lists. Vicki handed her a business card and Dr. Sagara agreed to fax the list over to her.

They separated. Mike walked Dr. Sagara back to her car and refused to think about what Henry and Vicki were going to do now. He stopped for coffee and a pastry at an all-night bakery. Dave took one look at the offering and pierced Mike with his gaze. “I’ve bought enough of them to know that this is a guilt gift,” he said, but that didn’t stop him from eating it.

 

_Day Eight_

Mike and Dave were following up on interviews they’d done for victims one and two, seeing if anyone remembered anything new, concentrating on anyone who spent time near the University. Mike was able to ask questions about an interest in satanic rituals without raising any red flags with Dave because he’d seen the symbols found at the crime scenes and hadn’t blinked an eye when Mike mapped the crime scenes and drew a pentagram connecting them.

“Holy shit,” Dave said, drawing out both words. “This dude is seriously crazy.”

Something they could agree on.

Dave _had_ blinked when Mike said, “I think he’s trying to call a demon or something.” Mike raised his hands. “Hey, I don’t believe it,” he lied, “but whoever’s doing this does.” Not a lie.

They both stared at the map. Dave pointed to the last crime scene. “This was your hunch.”

“Yeah, I . . . It sounded crazy, even to me, that’s why I didn’t call you.”

“Crazy was thinking you could stop this guy without back-up,” Dave said.

“You’re right,” Mike said. “I’m sorry.”

“I’d be more worried if I didn’t know you had someone with you,” Dave said.

Mike froze.

“The witness described someone who sounded a lot like Vicki,” Dave went on. “And an unknown subject who helped you fight the perp. The mysterious Henry who was flirting with you, I presume?”

“He was not flirt–!” Mike started, then broke off when he realized he hadn’t denied their involvement. He sighed.

Dave said, “Hey, they didn’t make me a detective just because of my good looks.” He gestured to the map. “So, they believe in this . . . stuff?”

“Let’s say they’re open to the possibility,” Mike said.

After that conversation it was easier to get Dave on board with re-interviewing people with a bent towards the satanic. And why he didn’t ask a whole lot of questions when Vicki called with the list of names that Dr. Sagara had faxed over.

“You don’t want to know,” Mike said in response to Dave’s query as to where Vicki had gotten the names.

“You’re probably right,” Dave said.

They ran the names. Other than a few parking tickets, some bounced checks, a couple of noise complaints, and one assault charge that had been dropped, none of the names stood out. They agreed to split the list in half to make questioning them quicker. If the stakes weren’t so high, Mike might’ve argued more about Vicki being involved. It would be just his luck if the killer was on her half of the list.

They called each other after each interview to check in. Mike framed it in terms of back-up, but he was transparent and Vicki knew he was worried about her being out there on her own. Not that he could do anything about it. To her credit, she didn’t call Mike on it. Everything went well until Mike took out his phone to call Vicki to check-in after their third interview and saw that he had a missed call and a voice mail.

“Voice mail from Vicki,” Mike told Dave as he dialed into his voice mail. “We must’ve been in a no-service pocket.” There were a few of them scattered about the city.

Vicki’s message was hurried, but not frantic. Other than being concerned for Coreen, she sounded okay.

“Coreen is with Norman Bridewell,” Mike told Dave. “His name is on our list.” Mike looked him up. “52 Luddington Ave,” he told Dave, and held on while Dave turned the car in that direction.

Mike called Vicki to let her know that they were on their way and to wait until they got there. The phone rang five times before it went to voice mail. “That’s strange,” Mike said as he disconnected and re-dialed. “She didn’t pick up.”

“Maybe she’s in a no-service area now,” Dave said, but without much conviction.

“Yeah,” Mike agreed half-heartedly. He had a bad feeling about this. When his next call went straight to voice mail, as well, Mike was officially worried.

On the drive across town, Mike called the station to see if they could get a location on Vicki’s cell phone. Her cell had been turned off, but they gave Mike the address of the last time it pinged a cell tower. Mike plugged the address into the GPS, and then found it on the paper map where they’d marked down all the addresses belonging to the names on the list.

Mike traced a line with his finger from the ‘x’ marking Vicki’s last interview to her last-known location based on the cell tower information, then continued in a straight line past it. There was an ‘x’ near where his finger ended up. “Yep, she’s headed for Bridewell’s apartment. Damn it! Why did she go off alone?” Mike said.

“Maybe she had a _hunch_ ,” Dave said.

“And didn’t bother to wait for us?” Mike said.

Dave gave him a look.

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Mike said. “I apologized. With pastry. Besides, this is different.”

“How?”

“Because it’s dangerous,” Mike said. “This guy has already killed five people, and Vicki doesn’t have any back-up.”

Mike pulled up the information they’d gotten on Norman Bridewell when they ran background checks and showed Dave a photo of him. Then all he could do was wait.

Mike found himself wishing that he’d gotten Henry’s number so he could call him. Mike ran Henry Fitzroy; Mike now knew that Henry drove a late model BMW, but there was no phone number listed. Apparently Henry didn’t have a landline. Mike got the number for Henry’s building and spoke to the doorman, Greg. Mike briefly wondered if it was the same doorman who’d been planning to stake Henry.

When Mike asked to speak with Henry, he was informed that, “Mr. Fitzroy has left the building. And in quite a hurry, too.”

Mike disconnected the call without reprimanding the doorman for giving out information about their owners. Henry had left in a hurry; Mike hoped that meant he’d gotten a call from Vicki, even as he seethed over the fact that Vicki hadn’t bothered to wait for either of them.

Mike barely waited for Dave to bring the car to a full stop before he was out of the car. They entered the building with weapons drawn. Norman Bridewell’s apartment was located on the ninth floor. Mike left Dave to wait for the elevator and took the stairs up. With a burst of speed, he reached the ninth floor before the elevator Dave had called reached the first. Mike didn’t bother knocking and announcing himself because the door had been kicked in and hung off its hinges. Despite himself, Mike found himself hoping that meant Henry was already there.

Inside, Mike found evidence that Norman Bridewell was their man in the various stolen items filling the room. Mike didn’t bother with a search of the main room, but followed the sounds he heard through to a back room.

Inside that room was chaos, and Mike’s mind swam as he tried to take in everything that was happening. The air was being buffeted around as if they were in a hurricane, and Henry was chanting in Latin while what had to be the demon Astaroth taunted and tempted him by turns. Mike’s claws came out, and his fangs dropped. It was instinct, even though there was nothing for him to fight right now.

Coreen was tied to a chair, and Vicki lay on the floor at her feet. Mike holstered his weapon and moved over to them, intent on getting them as far away from the portal through which Astaroth was trying to enter their world. Once he’d dragged them away, he took out his cuffs and went back for Norman Bridewell. Before Mike could get to him, Astaroth shrieked in anger and frustration and being blocked from the world, and disappeared when the portal blinked out of existence. But not before he dragged Norman Bridewell into the portal with him.

The man’s screams still reverberated in the air when Dave arrived. He looked around at the disheveled state of the room and the people in it. “What did I miss?”


	2. After the Demon

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Norman Bridewell was named as the suspect in the murder of five people, and the kidnapping of two, and a BOLO was put out for him. He’d never be found and prosecuted, not in this world, and the file would remain open as far as the Metro PD was concerned, but Mike considered the case closed. It wasn’t as satisfying as snapping a pair of cuffs on him and telling him that he was under arrest, but Mike thought that maybe Bridewell had gotten the worst end of the deal.

Crowley wasn’t pleased that Bridewell had escaped (or that Vicki had been involved), but she was glad to have a name and a case to give to her higher ups. Robbery, on the other hand, was happy to have some of their weirder cases solved. And now that Dave had met Henry, he kept teasing Mike about his ‘boy toy.’ The more Mike denied that Henry was his _anything_ , the more Dave believed it was true.

One evening a couple days after the incident in Bridewell’s apartment (Mike preferred to think of it as an ‘incident’ because it was easier to distance himself from what might have happened if Bridewell had killed Vicki and brought Astaroth into the world), Mike visited Vicki and discovered that she had agreed to hire Coreen.

“So,” Coreen said after Vicki had assured Mike that her wrists were healing and that she wasn’t neglecting her pain meds, “werewolves are also real.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mike said.

“If you’re a supernatural creature,” Coreen went on as if Mike hadn’t spoken, “why were you so certain it wasn’t a vampire?”

Mike looked to Vicki for assistance, but she just shrugged. Mike sighed. “Because there weren’t any vampires in Toronto,” he said. “Or so I’d thought. As a child I’d been taught that vampires were vicious and voracious. The bodies would’ve piled up. So either that information was incorrect, or Henry’s the exception that proves the rule.”

“Aww, Detective,” Henry said. “You think I’m exceptional. How sweet.”

Mike hadn’t heard Henry come in, and at the sound of his voice turned to see him standing in the open doorway. ”That is not at all what I said, and certainly not what I meant,” he said.

“Henry!” Coreen said. She rushed Henry and wrapped him in a hug.

With a bemused expression, Henry returned the hug.

“Thank you,” Coreen said when she stepped back. “For saving me. And for helping to catch the man who killed Ian.”

“We didn’t actually catch him,” Vicki reminded them dryly.

“He got what he deserved,” Coreen said darkly.

Mike could still hear Bridewell’s screams as Astaroth dragged him into the portal. His fate was most likely not a pretty one. Yet Mike couldn’t bring himself to disagree. Norman Bridewell had killed five people, and he’d planned to add Vicki to that number. He’d been willing to unleash a demon on the world to get what he wanted. The law and order part of Mike chafed at the fact that Bridewell wouldn’t spend the rest of his life in jail, but another part of him, the part that knew some of the things that lurked in the dark, thought that he’d gotten what he deserved.

~*~*~*~

Mike called Dr. Sagara to set up a time when he could return the book.

“Why don’t you just give it to Henry yourself the next time you see him,” she suggested.

Mike didn’t bother trying to disabuse her of the notion that he and Henry were friends who ‘saw’ one another. He considered leaving the book with Vicki to give to Henry (though that was only begging for Coreen to study it), but he kept hearing Dr. Sagara’s voice in his head.

 _Henry was a big help to you in solving the case, wasn’t he?_ and _It’s good that you’ve met someone who, like you, straddles the world of human and the supernatural._

He kept seeing Henry standing resolute against the demon despite his previous encounter with it, his own personal boogie man, chanting the banishing spell as Astaroth’s wrath swirled around them as if to blow them off their feet and drag them into his hell.

Mike could’ve called the building again, but instead he bit the bullet and called Vicki for Henry’s cell phone number. When he told her why he needed it, she laughed. Mike was tempted to put off making the call, but that would only make it harder. Which is how Mike ended up at Henry’s apartment after his shift that night.

Mike handed the book to Henry as he walked into the apartment. “Thanks for the loan,” he said shortly.

“I should’ve realized that Dr. Sagara had borrowed the book on your behalf once I discovered that you knew her,” Henry mused. “But you’re welcome. I’m glad it was helpful.”

“It was, though not as helpful as the source, as it turns out.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Careful, Detective, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

“The paucity of them will only make me treasure them all the more,” Henry said.

“Whatever,” Mike said. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Hearing the serious tone in Mike’s voice, Henry dropped all levity. “What is it, Detective?”

“Vicki,” Mike said.

“What about her?”

“You don’t know her . . .” Mike held up his hand to forestall Henry’s disagreement. “What I meant was, you haven’t known her _long_. Even so, I’m sure you’ve noticed that she’s a trouble magnet, and that she rushes in without a thought to her own safety. And now that she’s found a case involving the supernatural, they’re going to continue to find her.”

“From what Victoria said, she’s not unfamiliar with working supernatural cases,” Henry said cautiously.

“We came across a few,” Mike admitted. “But when she was a cop she had a partner, she had resources, a weapon, back-up. Now she has a degenerative eye disease, a baton, and Coreen.”

“And a taser,” Henry said, but Mike could tell that he wasn’t trying to be flippant.

“She needs back-up,” Mike said.

“I’m neither a cop, nor a private investigator,” Henry said.

“You’ve got experience, and knowledge,” Mike said. “And you’re useful in a fight.”

Henry smirked. “Careful, Detective, all of these compliments might go to my head.”

Mike snorted, then said, “Just . . . think about it.”

~*~*~*~

“Remember when we were partners and we came across a supernatural case?” Mike said.

Vicki raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” she drawled. “I’m losing my eyesight, not my memory.”

Mike ignored the reminder. “It was easier,” he said, “having a partner, someone I could trust with my . . . abilities.”

“Someone to help you fudge the reports,” Vicki said.

“That, too,” Mike admitted with a shrug. “I wish you’d been there to help write this last one,” he added wryly.

They shared a chuckle.

“What are you trying to say, Mike?”

“I’m saying, I think we should work together if another supernatural case arises. For either of us. I’ve got the resources you don’t, and you have . . . the freedom to do things I can’t. Within the constraints of the law.”

“You trying to keep an eye on me?” Vicki said.

“I think we could use each other’s help if something like this arises again.”

Vicki opened her mouth to reply, but Henry’s voice came from the doorway behind Mike before she could. “I agree.”

“Henry, I wasn’t expecting you tonight. Wait, you agree with Mike?”

“Please don’t rub it in,” Henry said, stepping into Vicki’s office. “In fact, I was going to offer my own services in that regard.”

“You were?” Vicki said with a suspicious look at Mike.

“Yes,” Henry said. He took the seat beside Mike. “I have arcane knowledge that might prove useful. And it was fun.”

“Fun?” Mike said.

“When it wasn’t terrifying, of course,” Henry allowed. “When you’ve been alive for nearly 500 years, fun, and friends, are in surprisingly short supply. I mean, it won’t be the same as being part of the SSA during WWII, but it’ll keep the doldrums away, right?”

“Doldrums?” Mike said.

“Are you just using me and my P.I. business so you can flirt with Mike?” Vicki demanded.

“Not _just_ ,” Henry said.

Mike rolled his eyes and hoped that no one could tell that his stomach had just done a barrel role. “Henry isn’t flirting with me,” Mike said.

“You are looking particularly fetching tonight, Detective,” Henry said.

Mike glared at him, and then continued to Vicki. “I don’t know why you think he’s serious, but now Dave won’t let it go, thanks to you.”

Vicki chuckled, and didn’t even try to look repentant.

“Your partner,” Henry said with interest. “Should I be jealous?”

“Dave’s married, and he already has his hands full with one girlfriend on the side,” Vicki assured Henry.

“I’m happy to hear it,” Henry said.

“And he’s already let me down easy about being my ‘partner with benefits’,” Mike said, complete with finger quotes.

Vicki choked on her own laughter. “When did this come up?”

“A couple of days ago, after you and I had one of our . . . differences of opinion,” Mike finished diplomatically, his lips curling as he was able to see the humor in the whole situation now.

“I wish I could’ve been there to see that,” Vicki said.

“Yeah, well, trust me, it was less hilarious at the time,” Mike told her.

“To you, maybe,” Vicki said.

“On that note,” Mike said, standing. He picked up the leather jacket he’d been wearing since his trench coat had been ruined and slipped his arms into the sleeves. It wasn’t as satisfying as swinging the trench coat on. Which reminded him. “You still owe me a new coat.”

Henry ran an appreciative gaze over Mike before raising his eyes to Mike’s. “I’ll happily replace that awful coat you were wearing, Detective, if I can pick out the new one.”

“I feel like I shouldn’t be here for this,” Vicki muttered.

“I’m not your boy toy, either,” Mike said, and was immediately sorry he had when he saw the others’ reactions.

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Vicki commented gleefully.

“No story,” Mike said. “Keep me informed,” he told Vicki, as if she’d already agreed to allow him to help her. “And I’ll do the same.”

“I’m still not writing the reports,” Vicki said.

Mike grinned. It wasn’t a ‘no’. And he could maybe sway her on the reports.

“I have an appointment myself, so I’ll walk you down, Detective,” Henry said.

Mike didn’t argue. Much. He thought that there might be something Henry wanted to tell him outside Vicki’s hearing. Still, he couldn’t not say _something_. “You’re going to use the stairs? I thought you just flew wherever you needed to go.”

“Flying everywhere would draw unnecessary attention,” Henry said with perfect aplomb as rose to his feet.

They said their goodbyes to Vicki, and then Henry led the way out of the office and down the hallway to the stairs. He didn’t speak until they reached the sidewalk. “The marks on Victoria’s wrists.”

The substance Norman Bridewell had used to paint the marks onto Vicki’s wrists had been burnt into the skin like a tattoo.

“What do they mean?”

Henry shrugged helplessly. “Nothing good.”

“What do we do?”

“Keep an eye on her,” Henry said. “Pay attention for signs that someone else is summoning a demon, or that Astaroth is trying to come through.”

“I’m not very good at sitting around and waiting.”

“When you’ve lived a couple hundred years, you start to learn patience,” Henry said. He left Mike at his car with a light, “Have a good evening, Detective.”

Mike watched Henry’s back as he walked down the sidewalk, feeling a bit discombobulated because Henry hadn’t said anything sarcastic _or_ flirty. Then Henry stopped and looked back at Mike over his shoulder. Mike wanted to look away, but he couldn’t, and it had nothing to do with Henry’s powers of persuasion.

“Whatever made you think I wasn’t serious, Detective?”

A shiver slid unbidden down Mike’s spine. Henry had melted into the shadows long before Mike was able to make himself move to get into his own car.

~*~*~*~

Mike didn’t see Henry for nearly a week. Nor did he speak to him. There wasn’t any supernatural shenanigans that required Vicki’s and Henry’s brand of assistance, and wanting to demand an explanation of his last words to Mike wasn’t a good enough reason to call. Rather, it was the very reason Mike _didn’t_ call. He didn’t want to give Henry the satisfaction of knowing that his words had hit their mark and twisted Mike inside out.

It was Coreen who put Mike and Henry in the same space again. She put together a gathering to honor the memory of Ian and Bridewell’s other victims. Aside from his connection to the case as the Detective in charge, Mike couldn’t not attend because of his new relationship with Coreen herself. Since Mike was going to represent the TMP, Dave begged off (though he did ask if Henry was going to be there, and then chuckled at whatever expression he saw on Mike’s face).

Henry _was_ there, of course, as Mike had no doubt he would be. The gathering was held at the club where Ian had worked. The place looked much different from the last time Mike had been there to question possible witnesses. Mike’s eyes raked the crowed as he descended the stairs until he saw Coreen holding court at the bar. Standing a few stools down from her, as if offering the support of their presence, were Vicki and Henry.

Mike went to Coreen first. He felt Henry’s gaze on him, but he refused to look his way again. Mike didn’t want to get trapped in his eyes, or whatever the hell had happened the other night.

“Mike,” Coreen said when she saw him.

Mike took Coreen’s hand, and then he hugged her when she threw herself into his arms. “Thank you for coming,” Coreen said wetly against his chest.

“I was honored that you invited me,” Mike said.

“Sorry.” Coreen dabbed at her eyes with a napkin as she took a step back. “I’m usually not this weepy.”

“Under the circumstances, I think you’re allowed. It was nice of you to include the families of the other victims,” Mike said.

“I had to,” Coreen said earnestly. “I was the reason that . . . _creep_ killed everyone!”

Mike squeezed Coreen’s hand. “You were the excuse, not the reason.”

Coreen gave him a grateful look that Mike hoped wasn’t mirrored on his own face when they were interrupted by a friend of Ian’s. Mike left Coreen and walked the few steps that brought him to Vicki and Henry.

“That was a nice thing you told her,” Vicki said.

“It was the truth.”

“Maybe one day she’ll believe it,” Henry said thoughtfully.

Vicki handed Mike the beer she’d ordered for him. They clinked the necks of their bottles together. Before Mike took a sip, he said to Henry, “You’re not drinking?”

Henry produced a bottle of water. “Designated driver,” he said.

Mike touched the lip of his bottle to the mouth of the water bottle, then blushed as he pressed the bottle to his lips. Mike wanted to ignore Henry so he didn’t have to think about the way Henry looked at him, or the way his insides went all fluttery because of it, but something Henry said had caught Mike’s attention.

“Wait, do you actually drive?”

“How do you think I get around?” Henry said.

Mike shrugged.

“You seriously think I fly everywhere?”

Mike rolled his eyes at Henry’s amused tone. “Well, everything I learned about vampires seems to be incorrect, but I guess I figured that, like most older folk, you’d have gotten set in your ways.”

“Cute,” Henry said. “In truth, after 470 years, I’ve learned to roll with the technological changes. You don’t run on all fours wherever you go, do you?”

“Point,” Mike said.

A semi-awkward silence fell after that, broken when Vicki picked up the conversational baton and told them a cute story about a young girl who’d called to hire Vicki to help find her missing dog. They were approached a few times by members of the other victims’ families, each of them thanking Mike for his part in solving the case of their loved one’s murder, even though the suspect had fled and not been apprehended.

Mike felt uncomfortable taking the credit for everything that Henry and Vicki had been part of, but the most he could do was accept their thanks and tell them that it was a group effort. If they thought he meant his fellow detectives at the TMP rather than the two people standing next to him, well, that was probably for the best. After a half hour of that, Mike was glad when Vicki said she was ready to leave.

“Walk me out,” she said.

Mike glanced at Henry. “Which one of us?”

“Both of you,” Vicki said. “I’ve been standing here with two good looking guys, I’m not leaving alone.”

“I didn’t think you were bothered by things like that,” Mike said, frowning.

“You want people to believe that you’re leaving with _both_ of us,” Henry said, amused.

“Exactly,” Vicki said, ignoring Mike’s comment.

Mike’s face heated as he imagined what everyone else in the room might think as the three of them walked out together. “Vicki, we’re at a wake.”

“And everyone here could do with something else to think about. We’d be doing them a favor, really.”

“You’re a real humanitarian,” Mike said wryly, but he followed Vicki and Henry as they moved down the bar to Coreen so they could say their goodbyes.

“Don’t worry if you’re not up for coming in tomorrow,” Vicki told Coreen.

“I’ll be there,” Coreen said emphatically. “It helps to have something to do.”

Mike’s skin prickled with the imagined looks they got as the three of them left together.

Outside, Vicki said, “I need a drink.”

“You want to go to another bar?” Mike said incredulously.

“I want to go to Henry’s apartment,” Vicki said.

Mike choked on his next breath. Henry merely raised his eyebrows.

“I want to try some of that 30-year old Macallan’s you told me about,” Vicki said to Henry. “Mike can drive.”

“I thought Henry was the designated driver,” Mike said as they walked to where he’d parked.

Mike did not go hot all over when Vicki casually asked Henry if he needed to feed.

“Are you offering?” Henry said in that same tone that sent fingers crawling down Mike’s spine.

“I’m offering to wait while you take care of it,” Vicki said.

“Take care of it,” Henry repeated. “You make it sound so _tawdry_.”

“Well, I’m not waiting while you seduce someone,” Vicki said dryly.

Mike pretended that the flip his stomach did at that comment wasn’t from jealousy, and that it wasn’t relief that filled him when Henry said, “I’m fine for tonight. But thanks for asking.”

~*~*~*~

Mike had only been to Henry’s apartment the one time – to return the book he’d unknowing borrowed from him, and to ask for his help keeping Vicki safe – but Vicki hung her coat and Mike’s in the closet, and made herself comfortable on the sofa as if she was already at home in Henry’s apartment. Mike remembered when Vicki had been just as at home in his space, and he in hers.

Vicki had taken the middle cushion, so Mike sat beside her on her right. They both watched as Henry poured scotch into two tumblers. Henry carried over the glasses and handed them out. Mike pretended that he felt nothing when his fingers brushed Henry’s on the transfer. Henry sat on the other side of Vicki, angled so he could watch them. He stretched one arm along the back of the sofa and crossed one ankle over his knee.

Vicki raised her glass. “To justice.”

Mike touched the rim of his glass to hers, and Henry tilted his head in acknowledgment of the toast before they drank. The scotch was the smoothest Mike had ever tasted.

“I’m glad you like it,” Henry said when they both complimented it.

No one spoke for a while after that. They sipped their scotch in silence and just shared the moment. It reminded Mike of when he and Vicki used to decompress together after a case.

As if she’d read his mind, Vicki finally spoke. “Were you both serious about partnering up on the supernatural cases?”

“Yes,” Mike said immediately.

“I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean,” Henry said. His expression was serious, but his eyes, when they fell on Mike, were like hot embers that burned his soul.

“And it’s not about keeping me safe?”

“It’s about keeping Toronto safe,” Mike said, glad to have his attention pulled away from Henry. And then, because the scotch had loosened his tongue, added, “If it keeps you safe, too, that’s just a bonus.”

“And you, as well, Detective,” Henry said before Vicki could work up a full head of steam.

“What about me?”

“You’re just one person, supernatural or not. You need the back-up as much as Victoria does. None of us could have taken on this demon by themselves.”

Vicki huffed. “What he said.”

“Agreed,” Mike said. He couldn’t deny that he’d been out of his league with the demon.

Vicki clinked her glass to Mike’s harder than she needed to before taking a sip. “Still not helping with the reports, though,” she said after she swallowed the scotch.

Vicki’s phone dinged just then and she shifted to pull it out of her pocket. She peered at the screen. “I’ve got to go,” she said.

“Is anything wrong?” Henry said with concern.

“No,” Vicki said, “nothing’s wrong.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” Mike said, leaning forward to set his glass on the coffee table.

Vicki pushed him back into his seat. “No need.” She brandished the phone. “That was my ride.”

“I don’t understand,” Mike said.

“I used their app to schedule a taxi,” Vicki said.

“When did you do that? And how did they know to pick you up here?”

Vicki ignored Mike’s questions. She got her coat out and Henry helped her into it. “I’ll talk to you later, Mike. Thank you for the scotch, Henry.”

“You’re welcome, Victoria.”

Vicki was gone and Mike still sat on Henry’s couch, dumbfounded.

“Let me get you a refill,” Henry offered.

“I should go, too,” Mike said.

“Should you?” Henry said with a smile that was partly amused and partly . . . something else.

Mike swallowed hard as he shoved down the urge to reach out for Henry and pull him down onto his lap. Yes, he should definitely leave now. Henry reached for the glass and Mike relinquished it before their fingers could touch again. He rose to his feet, but stood in front of the couch uncertainly. Remaining would surely be folly, but he couldn’t make his feet move towards the door.

Mike’s gaze landed on a room he’d seen previously, and glad to have something to focus on that wasn’t Henry, Mike’s feet took him in that direction. When he reached the doorway, good manners made him pause. Mike looked at Henry. “May I?”

Henry stood by the drink cart, watching Mike. Now he gave a gracious tilt of his head. “Be my guest.”

Mike found the light switch and stepped into Henry’s work space, a combination of office and drawing room. He glanced around at the neat surface of the desk, the easel with a partly finished drawing, the open pad lying on one of the chairs. Mike moved towards the cork board that hung on the wall, on which Henry had pinned some of his drawings.

There were some drawings of buildings and bridges, and Mike wondered if Henry used them for his graphic novels. He started to make a mental note to look them up, then shook his head. There were also people that Mike recognized – Vicki with her glasses on, her hair blowing in the wind, the baton in her hand, ready to strike. She looked every inch the warrior. Coreen, her eyes red and watery, but a defiant expression on her face. And then Mike himself in several poses. One with his claws and fangs out, another of him looking forlornly at his slashed trench coat . . .

“Just for that, you _are_ * buying me a new coat.”

Henry made a sound behind him that Mike pretended was agreement.

The last drawing showed a 3/4 side view of Mike in the leather jacket, hands on his hips, and a frown on his face. He tilted his head to study the likeness even as blood rose to heat his skin. “My ass doesn’t look that good,” he finally said.

Henry made a sound that was clearly disagreement this time. “Eye of the beholder, maybe.”

Mike told himself to turn around, but it took every ounce of strength to do it. Henry observed Mike without speaking. He held out the refilled glass. Mike looked at it, but he didn’t move to take it. “What are we doing?” he said.

“What do you want to do?” Henry said evenly.

Mike’s eyes flashed. “I want you to stop playing games,” he snarled.

“Then stop pretending you don’t know what I want,” Henry said.

“I have no idea what you want,” Mike said too honestly.

Henry set the tumbler on the desk and then sauntered towards Mike, all graceful predator. At the perceived danger, Mike’s fangs and claws instinctively came out. Henry’s glance took them in as he slowly crowded Mike into the wall and pressed their bodies together. He reached up and tugged at the knot of Mike’s tie, and said, “Why don’t we start here and see where it leads us.”

~*~*~*~

Mike stopped by Vicki’s office on the way to the precinct the next day. Coreen was on the phone when he stepped into the reception area, but she waved and smiled when she saw him. As annoyed as he was at Vicki, Coreen’s mood was infectious, especially when, out of all of them, she had every right to be angry and irritable, so he smiled back at her.

Against his own inclination to just walk in on her, Mike jerked a thumb in the direction of Vicki’s closed office door, silently asking if Vicki was in and available. Coreen nodded her head and gestured for Mike to go on in, even as she made ‘uh huh’ noises in response to whoever was on the other end of the call. Clearly Vicki hadn’t warned her that Mike might drop by, or that he’d be irritated with her.

Mike pushed open Vicki’s door without knocking. She looked up from whatever paperwork she was filling out. She’d obviously been expecting Coreen because her expression changed when she realized that it was Mike. Not guilt, because she probably didn’t even feel guilty about what she’d done, Mike thought, but something very close to satisfaction. It was enough proof for Mike that Vicki had done what he’d suspected she had.

“You set me up,” Mike said as he sat in the chair opposite her desk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vicki said, but it wasn’t very convincing.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Mike said, the words coming out even more irritated because he’d automatically reached for his trench coat to move it out of the way so he could cross his legs, only to come up empty-handed. “Let’s go back to Henry’s place for a drink,” Mike mimicked.

Vicki’s lips twitched. “I don’t sound like that.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Mike said.

“Did it work?” Vicki said, taking the offensive.

“Did what work?” Mike said, hating that he had zero poker face around Vicki.

“Did you and Henry take care of the ‘unresolved’ portion of your UST,” Vicki spelled out.

“There is no UST,” Mike said.

“Who has UST?” Coreen said.

“No one,” Mike said, wondering how she’d managed to sneak up on him.

“Mike and Henry,” Vicki said.

Coreen turned a calculating eye onto Mike. “I can see that.”

“What have you got for me?” Vicki said to Coreen, grinning.

Mike jumped on the reprieve, such as it was, with both feet. “Well, you two are busy, and I’ve got to get to work, so . . .” Mike slapped his hands onto the arms of his chair and pushed to his feet.

“Tell Henry I said ‘hi’ next time you see him,” Vicki said.

“Bite me, Vicki, I’m not going to see Henry,” Mike said.

“Ooh, was there biting?” Coreen said.

Mike’s entire body went hot at the memories that rushed through his brain at the question . “There was no biting,” he said.

“But there was something,” Vicki said smugly.

“I hate you,” Mike said.

Vicki grinned. “No you don’t. One day you’ll even thank me.”

“Not today,” Mike said. He turned to leave, but Coreen stopped him with a hand on his arm. Mike turned back, expecting Coreen to continue with the teasing. Instead she was looking at him with a serious expression and bright eyes. “I wanted to thank you again for coming last night.”

All the irritation left Mike in a rush. He gave Coreen a one-armed hug that she turned into a real hug by slipping an arm around his back and pressing her face to Mike’s chest.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” Mike said.

Coreen released Mike and stepped back. Mike squeezed her hand before sketching a wave in Vicki’s direction and heading for the door.

“Hey, Mike,” Coreen said. “I like the leather jacket. Very cool.”

“Thank you,” Mike said.

“Henry likes it, too,” Vicki said.

“Probably because it shows off his ass,” Coreen said.

“I don’t see it,” Vicki said.

“Really?” Coreen said.

“I hate you both,” Mike said.

He could hear their laughter even when he stood in the hallway outside the office with two rooms and a closed door between them. Mike strode quickly down the hallway to the stairs. There was an elevator, but Vicki hadn’t gotten a good deal on the rent because the landlord maintained the building well. Besides, as he’d proved before, he could hit the ground floor before the elevator arrived to pick him up, and besides, the wait would’ve given him too much time to think, to remember last night.

The way Henry had loosened the knot of his tie and tugged it loose enough that he could undo the buttons at Mike’s collar. How Mike had stood there, like the fly to Henry’s spider. How he’d tipped his head back to give Henry better access to his throat. How he’d shuddered at the wet heat of Henry’s tongue, followed by the sharp sting of his fangs as he dragged both along Mike’s artery. How Mike had shoved his hand into Henry’s hair and dragged his head back so he could capture Henry’s lips. How they’d kissed until Mike was lightheaded and breathless, their lips wet and red and swollen.

If Mike concentrated hard enough, he could still taste the blood that spilled from both their lips when their fangs had dropped.

~*~*~*~

Mike did not call Henry that evening (even if he did find himself reaching for the phone more than once), nor did he see Henry. The next night, Mike’s stomach twisted when he came out of the break room and saw Henry and Dave having a conversation as if they were old friends.

“Hey, Mike!” Dave said when he caught sight of him. “Look who dropped by!”

Henry, who must’ve sensed Mike’s presence before Dave spoke, turned slowly to face him. “Hello, Detective.”

“Detective,” Dave muttered. “Kinky.”

Mike managed to ignore Dave’s comment, and he did not get hard at Henry’s husky drawl. “What do you want, Fitzroy?” Mike said, trying to distance himself from his reaction to Henry.

“Vicki said you needed to see me,” Henry said.

Henry reached out smoothly to right the cup that tipped at that comment when Mike tried to set it down. “So,” he said, gaze going to the pulse at Mike’s throat that had started to beat double-time. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

Henry’s voice slid down Mike’s spine like the silk shirt Mike had rubbed his palm over and curled his fingers into the other night, and Mike’s breaths became labored.

“Jesus Christ,” Dave muttered. “Get a room, you two.”

It was enough to snap Mike out of the daze he’d fallen into. He cleared his throat. “Vicki was, uh, mistaken,” he said. What she was, was an interfering, lying liar who lies.

Dave snorted.

“Was she?” Henry said.

Apparently not very convincingly. But Mike squared his shoulders and prepared to soldier through. “Yes.”

“Well,” Henry said.

Mike thought that Henry needed to stop talking right now because his voice was doing things to Mike that had no business happening while he was at work. At all! He’d meant to say, at all.

“That’s disappointing.”

If Henry didn’t stop speaking in that knowing, sultry tone, Mike was going to drop to his knees right there and blow him. “You need to stop talking. Right now.”

Henry smirked. “Maybe another time,” he said. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, Detective.”

Henry reached out as if to shake Mike’s hand, but he merely pressed the tips of his fingers to the inside of Mike’s wrist. Mike’s chest constricted and he couldn’t breathe.

“Vicki was right,” Dave said, shaking his head.

“What?” Mike said. Henry was gone, and Mike didn’t know how long he’d been standing there.

“The UST is off the charts with you two.”

“No, it’s not!” Mike angrily pulled out his chair. It was a less satisfying gesture when he had to grab for it to keep it from rolling away.

“Wait,” Mike said after he’d wrangled the chair back into place and sat down. “You’ve been talking to Vicki?”

Dave gave Mike a look.

“I hate you all.”

“Including Henry?” Dave said. “Because the way you two were staring into each other’s eyes . . .”

“Shut up.”

“Next time, get a room, is all I’m saying.”

“No one is getting a room,” Mike said with finality.

“Yeah, okay,” Dave said. “You keep telling yourself that.”

~*~*~*~

“Detective, we have to stop meeting like this,” Henry said.

Mike’s heart leapt into his throat, but he pretended Henry couldn’t hear how fast it was beating now, and said, “We would, if you stopped lurking in the shadows.”

Henry stepped out of the shadows of the building and into the circle of light cast by a street lamp. The light framed his face, and for a moment he looked like an angel. Mike laughed at himself and shook the thought away.

“What are we doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said. “Vicki just asked me to meet her here.”

“Asked?” Mike said.

“Told,” Henry amended, lips curling up in amusement.

Mike snorted. That sounded more like Vicki, and matched the summons he’d received. For a moment he wondered whether this was another of Vicki’s attempts at whatever she was attempting with him and Henry, but then a taxi pulled up and Vicki got out. They waited while Vicki paid, and then she approached them with a smile.

“Hello, partners!”

Mike groaned. “That doesn’t bode well.”

Henry gave Mike a look. “Do you have another supernatural case?” he asked Vicki.

“Maybe,” Vicki said. “I need you two to help me check it out.”

“How?” Mike said, suspicious.

“I need your enhanced sense of smell . . .”

“The last time you asked me to smell something, there were rotten eggs in your refrigerator,” Mike said. “I threw up.”

“ . . . and sight,” Vicki finished.

“Low blow,” Mike said.

“Is that all?” Henry said, sounding disappointed that he wouldn’t get to hit something.

“Yes. If you decide to touch or lick something, I don’t want to know about it. Unless it pertains to the case.”

“Which might not even be a case,” Mike said.

“Right,” Vicki said cheerfully. “Let’s go.”

Vicki, flashlight in hand, began leading the way. Mike and Henry followed.

“So what are we looking for?” Henry said. “Or trying to sniff out?”

“Something that eats cats and dogs,” Vicki said. “Remember that cute story about the little girl with the missing dog?”

“Oh, no,” Mike said.

“Oh, yes. They found a pile of bones down here yesterday.”

“Bones?” Henry said.

“Yep, picked clean. It was in the paper this morning. All canine and feline. They said it might be a wild animal, or even the homeless desperate for food.”

“You’re kidding,” Mike said. “Just what we need, angry pet owners turning on the homeless. As if they don’t already have enough problems.”

“Where did they find the bones?” Henry asked.

“Under the overpass, near the water,” Vicki said. “I wanted to rule out Kingstie, or a similar sea creature.” She stopped walking. “Okay. Near as I can tell, this is where they found the bones. Can you smell anything?”

“Everything smells bad down here,” Mike said, wrinkling his nose as he dropped the hold he normally kept on his senses.

“I can tell you with nearly 100% certainty that it is not a sea creature,” Henry said calmly.

“How can you do that?” Vicki said.

Henry pointed, and both Mike and Vicki turned to look.

“Most likely that troll is the culprit.”

“Troll?” Mike and Vicki both said.

The troll roared.

“Jesus,” Mike said. “Is that stench coming from the troll?”

“More than likely,” Henry said. “Try not to get any of its blood on you.”

“What blood?”

Henry roared. His eyes went black and his fangs dropped. He charged the troll.

“Damn it,” Mike said, resigned, as his own shift began.

~*~*~*~

“I’m just saying, I don’t think it would’ve hurt to attempt to negotiate before attacking,” Mike said as Vicki poured more peroxide over his shoulder.

“Trolls don’t negotiate,” Henry said reasonably, though there was concern in his eyes as he watched Vicki’s ministrations. “Besides, they don’t speak English, or any of the other languages I’m familiar with, so it would’ve been difficult to open up a dialogue.”

“You mean you didn’t learn Trollish?” Vicki wondered.

“The language of the Trolls is not called ‘Trollish’,” Henry said.

“What is it called?” Vicki said.

Henry said something unintelligible to either Mike or Vicki.

“I think that was just gobbledegook,” Mike said.

“Agreed,” Vicki said.

Henry’s smirk fell off his face when Mike flinched as Vicki spread antibacterial cream over the wounds. She paused. “Does this hurt?”

Mike gave her a look over his shoulder, and then glared at Henry. “Yes, it hurts,” he said.

“I told you not to get any blood on you,” Henry said, his tone not quite matching the levity of his words.

“How did you expect me to not get any blood on me with you tearing into it like that? You could’ve mentioned that it would burn,” he added petulantly. “And how come you didn’t get acid blood on you?”

“I did,” Henry said, pointing out a hole in his shirt. “But it doesn’t affect vampires the same way it does others. Perhaps because we have a symbiotic relationship with blood.”

“Symbiotic?” Mike said.

“First time I’ve heard it put like that,” Vicki muttered in agreement. She finished taping the edges of the bandage, then patted Mike’s shoulder above the spot where troll blood had eaten through leather, cotton, and skin.

“Crap,” Mike lamented. “I’ve lost another leather jacket because of you.”

“This one’s Vicki’s fault,” Henry said. “We wouldn’t even have been there if not for her young client’s missing dog.”

“Hey,” Vicki said. “You guys came to _me_ with this whole ‘teaming up on the supernatural stuff’ idea.”

“Next time give us some warning if we might have to fight a troll so I can change into clothes I won’t mind having ruined.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know it was a troll,” Vicki said.

“No, you just thought it was a sea monster,” Mike said.

“Which is not a troll.”

“Here.” Henry shoved a tumbler of expensive scotch in Mike’s face. “Have a drink before you bite each other’s heads off.”

Mike turned his irritated expression onto Henry, but instead of saying anything, he took the tumbler and threw it back. Mike coughed, his throat burned and his eyes watered. “Thanks.”

“Vicki?” Henry offered.

“No thanks, Henry. Since Mike’s feeling well enough to argue, I’m going to head out.”

“Wait,” Mike said, pushing unsteadily to his feet. “I’ll go with you.”

“Not like that, you won’t,” Vicki said.

Mike looked down at himself, naked to the waist, covered with still healing scratches on his arms and torso, and a bandage on his back. By the time he raised his eyes, the door was closing behind Vicki. “Damn it,” Mike whined. “Did you plan this?” he demanded of Henry.

Henry’s eyes traveled over Mike’s body, but he said, “Even I’m not that good, Detective.”

Mike opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. “I see what you did there.”

Henry merely raised his eyebrows.

“Either I agree with you, or I admit that you _are_ that good.”

Henry smirked. “It is a conundrum.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “I really should go home.”

“You’re in no shape to go home,” Henry said. “You need to rest.”

“You’re just saying that to get me into bed,” Mike said.

“I’m such an open book to you, Detective,” Henry said as he picked up a blanket and shook it out before wrapping it around Mike’s shoulders.

“What did you put in that drink?” Mike said as he allowed Henry to settle him on the sofa.

“Alcohol,” Henry said. “Lots and lots of alcohol.”

Mike snorted. In this state that seemed pretty funny.

“But it’s your body trying to heal from the substance in the troll’s blood that’s making you tired. Sleep, Michael.”

Mike’s eyes closed, and the last thing he remembered was the feel of Henry’s fingers brushing his hair back.

~*~*~*~

When Mike woke, the apartment was in darkness except for the lamp that had been left on dim for him at the other end of the couch. It took him a moment to realize that the lack of light was because of the drawn drapes rather than the fact that it was still night on the other side of the glass.

Mike sat up slowly, carefully rotating his shoulder to see if it was still as sore as it had been last night. Thankfully there was no pain, just the pull of freshly healed skin. He let the blanket fall from his shoulders, trying to not think about Henry placing it there the night before, and reached for the folded piece of paper that had been stood on end on the coffee table. Mike’s name was neatly spelled across the face of it in a cursive that could only belong to a vampire nearly 500 years old.

The note informed Mike that Henry was currently locked in his bedroom against the sunlight, and that he had procured a change of clothes for him. The last line appeared benign, a casual, _I’ll see you later, Michael_ , and yet the promise in it caused Mike’s skin to prickle.

Mike pushed himself off the couch and went to the bathroom. Henry had not merely procured a change of clothes, but a full suit – Mike checked the label and nearly swallowed his tongue – all the way down to socks and underwear, and a bag of bathroom supplies, including a toothbrush and an electric razor. Despite Mike’s comment about Henry replacing his ruined clothes, he felt awkward actually accepting these.

Unfortunately, unless he wanted to wear clothes that were torn and full of acid-burn holes, he had little choice in the matter. The clothes were too nice to put on in his current condition of cleanliness, so Mike reached into the shower and turned on the water. While it was heating he reached over his shoulder and tore off the bandage, then turned so he could check the newly healed skin in the mirror.

Mike did not sniff the body wash and shampoo as he lathered them up, wondering if Henry used the same brand he’d put in the guest bath. Nor did he wonder if Henry had used these same towels as he dried off. Because that would be ridiculous.

When Mike was dressed, he studied his reflection in the mirror. The soft plum dress shirt complemented the dove gray slacks. Henry had even provided a matching tie. And everything, down to the underwear and shoes, fit perfectly. Fucking Henry.

Mike left the razor and toothbrush sitting on the sink because it would’ve felt weird to take them with him. For some reason, it felt weirder to leave them, as if he was tacitly admitting that he’d be back to use them again.

When Mike pulled on the suit jacket, something crinkled in the pocket. He pulled out another note informing him that there was a jacket in the closet. Mike was tempted to leave without it, but he was curious. The coat was black leather and soft as butter. He couldn’t resist taking it off the hanger and trying it on. As with the suit, it fit perfectly.

The jacket was longer than the leather one he’d just ruined, but not as long as the duster he’d lost to Henry’s claws several weeks ago and still mourned. (Which was fortunate, since Mike didn’t want to look like a pimp.) The coat hem hit him mid-thigh and would work with both a suit and jeans. Henry thought of everything, Mike thought irritably.

He shoved his hands into the pockets and found another note.

_As much as it pains me to cover your ass, I thought this worked better for your job. Try not to ruin this one._

Mike’s initial flush of pleasure (that he would never admit to) faded back to irritation. But he kept the jacket. It wasn’t as if Henry didn’t owe him one.

~*~*~*~

The apartment door was cracked open when Mike arrived at Henry’s that evening, robbing him of the satisfaction of pounding on it. Mike pushed the door open and cautiously stepped into the apartment. Henry was bent over the drawing table in his office and didn’t react.

“Your door was open,” Mike said, closing the door with less force than he wanted to. If he’d thought to startle Henry, he’d have been disappointed.

“I know,” Henry said without glancing up from his task. “I opened it for you.”

“How did you even know I was coming? You don’t have Dave spying on me, do you?”

Henry made a sound that Mike chose to interpret as amusement rather than an affirmative. He then remembered something that had happened the night they’d fought the demon in the park. “My blood.”

Henry put down his pencils and stepped away from his drawing board. “I’d know where you were even without the blood, Michael.”

“That doesn’t sound creepy at all,” Mike said, trying to ignore the shiver that went through him at Henry’s use of his first name. “Anyone could’ve come in here,” he said, changing the subject back to something with which he was more comfortable.

“I live in a secure building, Detective,” Henry said. “And I’m a vampire. No one gets in here unless I want them to.”

Mike swallowed hard. The intensity in Henry’s gaze burned him more deeply than the acidic troll blood had.

As if Henry sensed the direction of Mike’s thoughts, he said, “How’s your shoulder?”

“My shoulder’s fine,” Mike snapped, the question reminding him why he’d stopped by in the first place. “I wanted to talk to you about this.” Mike indicated the ensemble he wore.

Henry’s eyes moved slowly down Mike’s body, and then returned to his face with an approving smile. “It’s very flattering, Detective.”

“Of course it is,” Mike muttered. “Dave had a field day with it.”

Henry raised an eyebrow.

“I show up to work wearing new clothes – down to the underwear,” he couldn’t resist adding, “completely different in style, and clearly more expensive, than I’ve ever worn to work before. My partner’s actually quite a good detective.”

The corner of Henry’s lips quirked. “I take it he guessed that you didn’t purchase them for yourself.”

Mike gave Henry a look. He hadn’t admitted that Dave was correct, but that had only fueled his speculation.

“So your partner knows that I bought some clothes for you; what’s the big deal?”

Mike took off the leather jacket and immediately missed the feel of it hanging off his shoulders – it was really damned comfortable – and laid it over the back of the couch. He couldn’t resist sliding his palm over the buttery softness before pulling his hand away. “He’s gone from calling you my ‘boy toy’ to my ‘sugar daddy’,” Mike admitted.

To his credit, Henry didn’t laugh, but it was clear that he wanted to. “You never did explain your earlier ‘boy toy’ comment,” he said.

“And I’m not going to now,” Mike said. He figured he’d embarrassed himself enough as it was.

“I was right about the colors,” Henry said. “They look amazing on you.”

“Shut up,” Mike said without much heat.

“Let me look at your shoulder.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. “I told you, my shoulder’s fine.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” Henry said as he walked behind Mike and reached for his suit jacket, his tone that of someone who’d been born the bastard son of a king and expected to be obeyed.

To his annoyance, Mike found himself responding to it. He slipped the button at the front and let Henry slide the suit jacket down his arms. He tried to ignore the way Henry carefully folded the jacket and lay it over the leather jacket, tried to ignore Henry’s presence altogether, as he unbuttoned the dress shirt. Mike did not shiver when Henry helped him out of the shirt, nor when, after he’d raised the undershirt over his head, Henry’s fingers traced a path across his shoulder.

“You’re right,” Henry said, his voice rougher than usual. “It is fine.”

“I told you so,” Mike said, trying his best to ignore the heat in his belly at the way Henry said ‘fine.’ He couldn’t, however, hold back the low noise in his throat when Henry’s lips gently brushed across recently healed skin. That was Mike’s excuse for how sensitive the area seemed, and he was sticking to it.

“Were you just trying to get me out of my clothes?” Mike said, trying to put some spirit into the words.

“Not just,” Henry said.

Mike tried to laugh it off, but the laugh turned into a soft moan when Henry’s lips pressed against the juncture between shoulder and neck, and his fingers clenched in the shirt he’d balled up in his hands.

“You told me before that you didn’t know what I wanted,” Henry said. “Is that still the case?”

Mike opened his mouth, but the words froze in his throat when Henry took a step closer, the front of his body pressed against Mike’s back, his hardness evident. Henry pressed another kiss to the back of Mike’s neck, distracting him from the hand that came around to settle on his stomach. Mike sucked in a breath as that hand moved up his chest, fingers teasing his nipples before it changed direction and slid back down to his waistband.

“Because if it is, I’d be happy to spell out in great detail exactly what it is that I want from you,” Henry said, his voice vibrating from his chest into Mike.

Mike thought he might’ve said something in reply then if Henry’s hand hadn’t slipped lower, his palm covering Mike’s own erection, fingers curling around him as much as they could through the material of his slacks.

“I know all about sex,” Mike grated out. He wished he could blame someone else for the situation in which he now found himself – Vicki, Henry himself, even Dave – but he’d come over to Henry’s apartment on the flimsiest of excuses, after weeks of flirting and one night that had gotten a bit physical (saying that they’d ‘made out’ made Mike feel too much like a teenager) knowing full well (if he was honest with himself) that something like this could happen.

Might happen.

Would probably happen.

“Oh, Michael,” Henry purred. “I want so much more from you than sex.”

Heat flashed through Mike’s body. “I-I’m feeling exceedingly underdressed here,” He croaked.

Henry went still behind him. “Is that a no?”

Mike had an out, all he had to do was agree. Instead he said, “That’s a ‘you should take something off, too’.”

Henry’s lips were still pressed to Mike’s skin and he could feel them slide into a grin, and could hear the relief, the smile in Henry’s voice when he said, “Gladly, Detective.”

Henry’s hand released Mike and he felt a momentary sense of loss. Instead of moving away from him as Mike had expected, though, Henry’s fingers went to Mike’s waistband, slipped the button and lowered the zip.

Mike groaned. “I meant, take off your own clothes!”

Mike couldn’t see it, but he knew that Henry was smirking. “You’re a detective, Michael; you should know that you’ve got to be more specific.”

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/spikedluv/media/Fic%20Covers/blood%20ties%20r5%20postcards%20by%20stormbrite.png.html)

_Epilogue_

Mike had done the walk of shame at 3am. He’d given Greg a smile and wave and pulled the leather jacket more closely around him when he stepped out onto the sidewalk. Mike felt decidedly shame _less_ when his mind flashed back to the way Henry had touched him, the way Henry had allowed Mike to spread him out on the bed and touch him in return. Remembered the whispered, “Let your senses go,” just before Henry had slipped his fangs into Mike’s skin. Now, each time the slacks rubbed against the long-healed spot on the inside of his thigh, Mike couldn’t help remembering the heightened sensations as Henry drew on his blood, his orgasm building until white lights had exploded behind his eyes and the blood rushing in his ears had sounded like Henry’s voice saying, I want so much more from you than sex.

Mike managed to get a few hours of sleep in his own bed before rising to shower and dress in one of his usual work suits. He did not get a little thrill when he slipped his arms into the leather jacket. There was a spring in his step when Mike left his apartment, and despite his late night he was actually running early. Mike nixed the idea of stopping by Vicki’s office because there was no way she wouldn’t realize what had transpired last night. And give him shit for it. Instead he stopped at his favorite bakery for coffee and a pastry.

Mike was in such a good mood that he ordered two dozen donuts for the precinct, and another coffee for Dave. He whistled as he walked into the bullpen and set the cardboard carrier of drinks and box of donuts on his desk. “Donuts,” he unnecessarily said as he pulled one of the coffees from the carrier and placed it on Dave’s desk, ignoring the look Dave was giving him. “Take one before I put them in the break room.”

(Cops really were like vultures when it came to free donuts, and Mike thought that the saying ‘you snooze, you lose’ had been coined for just this situation.)

Dave took two donuts, and continued to look at Mike suspiciously. “Why are you whistling?”

Mike stopped whistling. “I didn’t realize I was.” He tossed his leather jacket onto the chair beside his desk, considered the pastry he’d already had and took a donut for himself anyway (he needed to keep up his energy), then picked up the box.

“You’re happy,” Dave said accusingly. He lowered his voice, “Did you finally get laid?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mike said.

“What’s the occasion?” Kate said as she approached Mike’s desk, eyeing up the box of donuts.

“Mike’s in a good mood,” Dave said, making ‘good mood’ sound like a bad thing.

Mike offered the box to Kate and she gave the contents the serious consideration they deserved before choosing a donut. “Thanks,” she said to Mike, then to Dave, “Why is he in a good mood?”

“Because he got laid.”

Mike opened his mouth to protest, but Kate spoke again before he could. “Vicki?”

“I am standing right here,” Mike said.

Kate turned her questioning gaze onto Mike.

“Can’t a guy just be in a good mood?”

Both Dave and Kate continued to stare at him expectantly, and Mike could feel the unrest building in the bullpen as the scent of sugar and grease permeated the room while he was being interrogated by his partner.

Mike sighed. “Not Vicki.”

Dave grinned and held out a hand to Kate, who gave Mike a disappointed look as she reached into her pocket and withdrew a twenty note she slapped into Dave’s waiting palm.

“You bet on me?” Mike said, trying to sound surprised.

“I’ve got to keep my ladies in the manner to which they’ve become accustomed,” Dave said.

“How did you know it wasn’t Vicki?” Kate demanded of Dave.

“Have you _met_ Henry?”

“Henry?” Kate said with undisguised interest. “No, I haven’t. But I look forward to it.” She gave Mike a look that said _he_ wasn’t going to enjoy it when she did, and then turned and stalked back to her desk, snarling at anyone who sniffed in the direction of her donut.

“Really?” Mike said to Dave.

“Hey, you’re happy, I’m happy for you.”

Mike’s irritation escaped him like air from a punctured balloon. “Fine, but we’re not discussing it.”

Dave held up his hands, palms facing outward in a gesture of surrender.

“And for the record,” Mike added, “Henry is older than he looks.”

Dave’s laughter followed Mike to the break room.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I’ve used the University of Toronto in my story instead of York University for various reasons: A) The show doesn’t specify the university in any way I was able to discern (aside from the term ‘University Annex’, which [according to Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Annex) refers to the UofT, and B) The book has Dr. Sagara working at the UofT, and that worked for the story so I ran with it.
> 
> 2\. If you read this and wondered whether the relationship between Mike and Vicki is a kinder, gentler one than portrayed in the first episodes, then you’d be right. The strident, over-the-top angry and uncompromising relationship they had in the first eps always made me wince and cringe, so I made it better. *g*

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for 'breathless and bulletproof'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6430555) by [stormbrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormbrite/pseuds/stormbrite)




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